


Following the thread

by embeer2004



Series: Resonance divergence [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Caring, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Following the Thread, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overdosing, Pack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Witcher level violence, instable vampires, slight foul language (witcher level cursing), unintended self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: The search for Syanna continues and, together with Regis and Dettlaff, Geralt is following the thread that started at Dun Tynne castle. They learn that Damien de la Tour, who'd been ordered by the Duchess to find her sister, has been taken prisoner and intend to free him from his captors.More pieces of Syanna’s plot to overthrow the Ducal seat are revealed along the way and the trio realises that time is running out…





	Following the thread

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'The search for Rhenawedd'.
> 
> For those of you hesitant about the tags, I’m explaining the non-con/unintended ones in the endnotes.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

_Geralt  
_  
Geralt looked at the three horses before him, two of them shuffling in place and keeping track of the two vampires behind him with wary eyes. Roach was unbothered by his companions though and her calm presence seemed to soothe the other two horses that Barnabas-Basil had acquired for them within an hour after Geralt’s request. The man was a miracle worker.  
  
The hunt was on, and while the two vampires were capable of misting up and travelling quickly as they joined him in the search for Sylvia Anna, it would only raise unwanted questions if they set out together with just one horse.  
  
Barnabas-Basil moved over to the horses and reached up to pat their necks, making quiet hushing noises at them. “This black gelding here is Sable; a friend of mine was kind enough to loan him to us, and the pale grey mare is my own, Grisetta. I hope they will serve you well,” Barnabas-Basil stroked Grisetta’s nose fondly, “I know you will take good care of them.” His majordomo had seen how much he cared for Roach and had observed how the mare responded to Geralt, revealing a deep trust in her rider, and as she was a witcher’s horse, who had to have seen many monsters and battles, that said a lot.  
  
Calmly, slowly, Dettlaff approached the horses from the side and reached out his arm, seeing which horse would first approach him for a sniff.  
  
Roach’ tail twitched as she stepped calmly to the side, towards Geralt. The grey mare, Grisetta, after an initial flattening of her ears, lifted them back up and curiously stepped forward to meet Dettlaff’s hand, touching his palm. Pleased, the vampire lay his fingers on her nose and looked into her dark eyes, reaching his other hand up to stroke her neck. “She will do,” his low voice murmured.  
  
Regis stepped up towards Sable, nervously lifting his hand and offering it up for inspection, but the horse stepped back, eyes wide and he neighed, bucking upwards.  
  
Patting Roach’ neck, Geralt moved over towards the pair and reached out to touch the skittish gelding, glad to notice the horse moved over to him, seeming to calm down even though he kept a wary eye on Regis.  
  
“Regis, you ride Roach,” Geralt said, “she’s used to you already.”  
  
Pulling his hand back to his chest, Regis nodded and went over to Roach. The vampire’s eyes lit up with pleasure as the gentle mare stayed calm and reached her snout to carefully bump his shoulder. “Then it’ll be you and me, Roach,” his friend calmly told her, stroking her blaze.  
  
Geralt nodded towards his majordomo. “Thanks, B.B,” he lifted himself onto Sable’s back and waited for the two vampires to mount before clicking his tongue at the gelding, and when that didn’t do anything he lightly kicked the horse’s sides, indicating his wish to move.  
  
Barnabas-Basil inclined his head and lifted a hand up in the air. “Good luck on this quest, sirs. Please return safely.”  
  
“That’s our intent,” Geralt nodded, nudging his gelding into a walk first before going over into a trot, the two vampires following behind.  
  
*  
  
When they arrived at Beauclair palace the sun was setting and they had to be careful guiding their horses to the upper level. They dismounted and headed inside, where a guard informed them, after only a slight verbal convincing, of the location of Her Illustrious Highness.  
  
When two guards opened the door to the Duchess’ study, Anna Henrietta looked up from where she was sitting behind a desk, a large tome open before her.  
  
“Witcher, back so soon?” She exclaimed, glaring at Geralt, one elegant finger tapping the edge of her book. Then her eyes drifted over to his two companions and turned wide with pleasant surprise. “Regis! We had no idea you were in Toussaint! And who is your companion?”  
  
Regis performed a gracious bow before her, foot extended, one hand to his chest while the other circled out in an elegant swirl. “Your Grace, please allow me to introduce to you my dear friend, Dettlaff van der Eretein.”  
  
Dettlaff smoothly followed Regis’ example, bowing elegantly, “Your Grace.”  
  
“What brings you to us?” Anna Henrietta asked, standing up and clasping her hands loosely in front of her. “Geralt, you are supposed to be finding my sister!”  
  
Geralt winced, hearing the underlying bite in her voice. He’d been chewed out by her enough already and after his last talk with her he considered himself lucky to still have his head attached. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Regis had stepped forward.  
  
“You Grace, we have a grave matter to discuss.” Regis handed her the letter. “Dettlaff and I have been helping Geralt in identifying the source of this whole matter with the Beast. We intercepted this letter from a beggar, which was meant to be delivered to the vampire being blackmailed,” he explained, telling the truth, though not telling the whole truth.  
  
Geralt stepped up next to him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Rhenawedd, we’re sure of it now, is Sylvia Anna.” He looked back at Dettlaff, seeing pain flit through the pale eyes at the reminder.  
  
Anna Henrietta examined the letter and furiously shook her head. “No, this cannot be. We do not believe this! Our own sister…” she crumbled the letter in her hand.  
  
“Your Grace,” Geralt started, “all the clues, the letters, the Heart of Toussaint, confirm it. It’s her. Sylvia Anna has come back to Toussaint and is plotting a coup d’état.”  
  
“No,” the Duchess’ voice broke on that single word before she seemed to collect herself, her hands clenched tightly before her the only tell of her discomfort. After a moment she sighed sadly. “We do not wish to believe this, but we cannot deny all the evidence.”  
  
“Is there any relation to Sylvia Anna and the first four victims?” Geralt asked, curious. He was certain there had to be one.  
  
Anna Henrietta turned around, her dress rustling as she stalked towards a window and stared outside. “Louis de la Croix, Vladimir Crespi, Milton de Peyrac-Peyran, and Ramon du Lac,” her soft voice muttered under her breath, “I do not know what the connection could be,” she turned back to the three of them and seemed to deflate, instead of a ruler leaving behind a young woman, “but the knights have been linked to the Virtues and now this letter marks me for the Fifth Virtue. Syanna always has been a jealous and evil child, responsible for the murder of one I held dear even when we were both children still.” A grimace appeared on her face, so unusual for the usually composed ruler, before she walked back to her desk, touching the page she’d been reading. “We do not know if she has an actual reason for selecting her victims, or if she just chose them because they were knights in our service.”  
  
She narrowed her eyes at Geralt. “You must warn Damien of this plot, he must be made aware of the danger.” She walked over to him and reached out a hand to touch his chest. “Then find our sister and bring her back to us, _unharmed_.”  
   
A bit worried, Geralt looked back at Dettlaff, noticing the vampire’s hands were balled into fists beside him, trembling slightly. In the few days that he’d spent with him he’d started becoming familiar with Dettlaff’s body language and his little habits, and this sign was a clear indication of his deep discomfort. He’d seen it before when Regis had awoken from one of his nightmares, confused and scared.  
  
Regis had told him that Dettlaff was more primal in his feelings and he wasn’t certain that the vampire wouldn’t lash out. Dettlaff needed to calm down.  
  
Luckily Regis seemed to notice Dettlaff as well and his friend was moving over to the other vampire, lightly touching his arm while the Duchess looked the other way before standing closer to the vampire and leaning lightly against his side.  
  
Geralt didn’t want to make any promises. From what he’d seen already Sylvia Anna was ruthless and plotting and thus likely she wouldn’t just give in and allow herself to be dragged back to the palace to be tried for four murders and high treason, going so far as to orchestrate the plot to kill her own sister. “I will do my best, your Grace, but I cannot promise she’ll be unharmed if she decides to resist.”  
  
Anna Henrietta pushed his chest, making him take a stumbling step backwards. “That was _not_ a request, _witcher_.”  
  
Tired of ruling monarchs that always liked to make him submit to their orders Geralt looked up. The worried gleam in Anarietta’s eyes calmed the anger brewing inside his chest just a tiny bit. She was worried, upset. Conflicted between being a sister and a monarch. Tilting her head at her, he stiffly bowed. “With your leave, we shall join Damien and search for her.”  
  
The Duchess nodded. “Go, Geralt.” With a glance at both Regis and Dettlaff she turned around and headed towards the window, her hands coming up in front of her, nervously fluttering in her worry.  
  
Once outside, Dettlaff hurriedly walked over to the balustrade, gripping it harshly and causing the marble to crack.  
  
Regis walked up to him and hesitantly reached out before drawing his hand back. “Dettlaff?” There was a waver in his voice.  
  
“A moment… Regis,” the vampire breathed, pulling back from the balustrade with some difficulty.  
  
Geralt didn’t say anything, allowing Dettlaff some time to compose himself, instead, he walked a bit onwards to where he’d seen a horse’s tail flicking in the air. Turning around the bend he spotted all three of their horses munching on some of the palace flowers.  
  
Smirking, he walked up to Roach. “You’re a bad influence on other horses,” he told her fondly, reaching up to her neck and reaching for her bridle, guiding her away from her treat. “Sable, Grisetta,” Geralt whistled, seeing the horses’ ears twitch in his direction, but neither of them stopped nibbling on what Geralt expected to be some very expensive flowers.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he let go of Roach and walked over to the equine delinquents, reaching for their bridles and leading them back over to the vampires.  
  
Sable halted in his tracks when he spotted Dettlaff’s rigid form, but Roach calmly strolled over, undaunted, and pushed her head against the vampire’s chest, demanding pets. She had clearly grown comfortable enough with the vampire after all the time he’d spent caring for her.  
  
Dettlaff’s hands reached up, one touching her snout while the other stroked over her blaze. His mind seemed to wander for a bit as the tension drained out of his body and after only a minute he sighed and blinked, looking up at his surroundings. He turned around until his eyes found Regis’ and he must be doing something with the bond the two vampires shared, as Regis’ own tension slowly seeped out of his body and the vampire straightened up, a hesitant smile clinging to his lips.  
  
“Dun Tynne,” Geralt thought out loud, “we don’t know where Damien started searching for Sylvia Anna, but I’m convinced after that final letter that there’s a connection between her and Roderick. If we find Roderick’s men we’ll find her, and Damien too. The captain will have used his scouts to gather information on the whereabouts of Sylvia Anna, and he will either have found her already, or he will find her soon, or that I am certain.”  
  
Breathing in deeply, Dettlaff nodded and walked over towards Grisetta. “Let us not waste any more time.”  
  
Looking back at the palace, Regis reached for the strap of his satchel before quickly hurrying over and mounting Roach.  
  
Heading over towards Sable, who was nervously twitching his tail, Geralt patted the horse’s rump. “You’ll get used to them,” he told the gelding, giving him a bit more time to calm down, unwilling to cast an axii just yet. Seeing the other two horses being calm and relaxed finally seemed to convince Sable that all was perfectly safe and, pleased, Geralt climbed up in the saddle.  
  
Time to head to Dun Tynne…  
  
*  
   
When they arrived at the castle Geralt was amazed at seeing the old ruined place restored. The walls surrounding the castle had been renewed by someone with impressive masonry skills and the erstwhile ruin was in an excellent state.  
  
Geralt grimaced, feeling a bit wistful; Kaer Morhen would stay a ruin, neither he nor his brothers wished to set foot in the place ever again. But it had been Vesemir’s dream to see the keep restored. _Vesemir…_ An uncomfortable sensation rolled through his chest, wreaking havoc near his heart.  
  
Sighing, he dismounted Sable and started searching the ground for any tracks.  
  
The place was deserted and the ground was covered in boot prints, making it difficult to see what had happened and which prints belong to whom. There were heavier boot prints, likely made by the Camerlengo’s knights, and lighter ones, Roderick’s men? It looked like an army had passed through here.  
  
Now that they were finally at the castle Geralt wanted to see for himself whether there were any clues left inside. The Camerlengo’s knights, though trained in observation, were only human and may have missed something that he would be able to spot.  
  
Regis and Dettlaff dismounted and followed him inside, trailing closely after him as he went through room after room, searching… The place really was deserted.  
  
It was in one of the rooms on the upper floor that they stumbled upon a cosy sitting room, with bookcases lining the walls and a hearth nestled along one of the walls. There were a few empty bottles on the floor, the smell clinging to them indicating they’d once contained a spicy wine, though there was no label on any of the bottles.  
  
Dettlaff’s nose twitched as he walked around the room. “The scent,” he sniffed, closing his eyes, “her perfume… it’s Rhena’s.”  
  
Geralt took in a deep breath himself, smelling the fading sweetness on the air and committing it to memory. All he knew of Sylvia Anna was her general description and the painting he’d seen back at the Ducal Camerlengo’s. He was fairly sure he would be able to identify her, but he’d be sure to keep his nose out for this particular scent. He could use it to track her.  
  
He suppressed a yawn as he searched the room, looking for a clue as to where Roderick’s men had gone to, even going so far as to inspect the bookcases and dresser for any secret buttons, but not finding any.  
  
It was already past midnight but Geralt didn’t want to call it a night just yet. Time wasn’t on their side. He could stay up for a while longer; he’d gone for several days without sleep or meditation before. Yawning again he rubbed his eyes. He hated to admit it, but he still wasn’t fully recovered, his current fatigue just proved that.  
  
He was getting old.  
  
“Found all we can inside,” he concluded once he was satisfied he’d learned all he could, which was pitifully little.  
  
Heading back downstairs, Geralt examined the grounds outside, noticing the wheel tracks of a cart leading south and up to the north. The trail was overlain by heavy boot prints and horse-shoe prints, muddling up the tracks. Looked like the Ducal Camerlengo’s knights had decided to follow the wheel tracks as well.  
  
Getting back on their horses, the three of them started following the trail.  
  
They’d been travelling in a northern direction for some time when they came across the Trading Post. The tracks on the ground became intermingled with even more horse-shoe prints and the trail continued onwards in a northwest direction, towards the Sansretour March. There was only one place of interest in this area, and the road they were on would lead them straight to it.  
  
“They went to the ruins of Arthach Palace,” Geralt spoke up.  
  
“You know the place?” Regis asked, clicking his tongue at Roach to make her go faster so he could ride beside Geralt.  
  
Geralt nodded. “There’s a hanse base there, led by Antoine Straggen.”  
  
Dettlaff came up on his other side, a dark look on his face. “The hanse… it’s still there?”  
  
Geralt shrugged. “As far as I know.”  
  
“How many men were there?” Regis asked.  
  
“Didn’t exactly count them,” Geralt snorted, “but reckon there were about three score men.” He’d nearly considered just heading back and waiting for the men to clear out of the place before looking around for the witcher diagrams, but he’d really wanted those feline diagrams and the hanse had shown no indication of setting out any time soon. After Mont Crane he’d sworn never to take on another hanse base by himself, ever again, no matter the reward being offered, so when he’d stumbled upon the Arthach Palace ruins he’d waited until the cover of the night before sneaking through the base; painstakingly avoiding the dogs and making sure not to cause any splashes in the water. When he’d finally found the diagrams his heart had been beating nearly out of his chest from all the excitement. Then he’d sneaked out the same way, making sure he wasn’t noticed and only having to cast axii once on one of the dogs.  
  
“Three score, quite a large hanse,” Regis mused.  
  
Geralt nodded. “Too large to take on by myself, that’s why they’re still there. The Ducal Camerlengo should organise a raid on the place to take out the two remaining hanse.”  
  
Dettlaff purposefully looked down at the tracks they were following. “Do not worry about the number of humans, if it is needed Regis and I can take them out swiftly. They would not even see us coming.”  
  
That brought Regis’ earlier statement to the forefront of his mind. So his friend had been right then, Dettlaff really hadn’t been out to kill him back at the abandoned warehouse.  
  
“Dettlaff, if at all possible we should avoid a fight with those humans,” Regis quietly said, worrying his lip, “let the knights sort it out by themselves. I for one am not fond of them finding out I’m not human and being driven out of Toussaint.”  
  
Geralt looked at the ground, frowning when the path gave way to watery march. There were still some traces of people passing through, trampled patches of grass and reeds. He was sure the trail would end at Arthach Palace.  
  
And so it did.  
  
*  
  
From a distance they could easily spot the palace ruins and the humans nearby, illuminated eerily by the fires lit around the place.  
  
When the wind blew in from the north Geralt scrunched up his nose and noticed his companions doing likewise; the usual smells of the mouldy marshes were intermingled with the scent of blood, so thick it was nearly palpable.  
  
Focusing, Geralt searched the ruins and his eyes widened with shock when he saw the still bodies lying scattered between the gnarled trees and bushes, and when they came closer he could easily see that the place had turned into a graveyard of humans and dogs. Both bandits and knights had fallen around the ruins, and Geralt noticed the different armour types; the plain steel of the Ducal Camerlengo’s knights, but also some knights with differently coloured armour particular to the Ducal Honour Guard.  
  
Geralt halted, shocked at seeing so many men, _experienced_ men, cut down. How many had been in Damien’s troupe?  
  
Hearing the sound of sloshing hoofs behind him he didn’t startle as a hand landed on his shoulder. “Geralt…” Regis uttered, trailing off, speechless.  
  
Geralt nodded and dismounted from Sable, indicating for the two vampires to follow his lead. So far they hadn’t been spotted yet, thanks to the darkness and the cloudy night sky. “Gotta see if Damien or some of his knights are there,” he said softly, convinced that any knight they would spot would be a corpse in the wet marsh. The hanse was too calm. If they were lucky they’d taken some knights captive. Gritting his teeth, Geralt looked down where he was wading calf deep through the water. Was Damien lying somewhere around the ruins? Cut down as well?  
  
From what he could see there were less than a score of men; they could easily take them out if they were careful.  
  
“Dettlaff… Regis… stay close but don’t attack yet, we want to be in good position before taking them out.”  
  
Dettlaff nodded and quietly started following him, Regis by his side.  
  
They tried to stay on the dry patches of the marsh as much as possible, but sometimes they had to wade through the water, moving slowly through the mucky marsh in order not to make any noise. Geralt could now clearly make out the insignias on some of the fallen knights’ armour: a setting sun over a dark field. Damien’s men.  
  
Blinking furiously while suppressing a yawn, Geralt cursed his luck when he stumbled over what seemed to be a dead dog when they were just a dozen metres from the palace ruins. The water splashed up and he gasped, waving his arms in a bid not to fall down. While he had no difficulties seeing in the dark, it _was_ difficult to see through marshy water.  
  
“Who goes there?” A voice shouted from above. A moment later a torch was wavering up and down and Geralt only had just a moment to dodge an arrow, splashing loudly through the water to avoid the hit. He cast a quen around him.  
  
“Gibbering gallbladders and a gaggle of guardsman, I hear the sound of at least one dead man!” Another voice shouted, sounding gleeful.  
  
The cover of the gnarled trees was too far away, but to his right there were some bushes. Geralt considered his options, he’d have to do it slowly, he’d be heard if he headed there too fast.  
  
Then another arrow came at him; the marksman was firing with terrible accuracy.  
  
“Go!” Geralt hissed, unsheathing his blade and running towards the nearest bushes, intent to dart between them and make his way back around in order to climb up through the fallen elven arches, where there would be at least some cover from flying arrows. He could take out the bandits one by one then from his high vantage point.  
  
There was an uproar as the hanse started moving, the sound of metal blades leaving their sheathes ringing through the night.  
  
Reaching for his belt, Geralt cursed silently, realising he didn’t carry any bombs on him. He hurried towards another bush. _Nearly there._  
  
Suddenly smoke swirled around him and for a moment he panicked, thinking some kind of bomb had been thrown, but then Regis materialised right next to him, his claws out and swiping furiously at an oncoming bandit. More were approaching.  
  
Geralt quickly looked around, spotting Dettlaff some distance away, skewering another bandit.  
  
His heart was beating loudly in his chest. It was exhilarating to see his two friends in action, to witness the power they displayed. Indeed, the vampires were very efficient in picking off their targets. Invisible one moment, the next materialising while slashing and skewering the unfortunate bandit who came in their way. The humans didn’t stand a chance.  
  
There was a burst of energy at his back, his quen breaking, and Geralt quickly turned around, casting aard and pushing his attacker to the floor before coming up and pushing his blade through the man’s chest.  
  
Regis snarled from somewhere behind him, clearly displeased. “Pay attention, Geralt!”  
  
A motion from the corner of his eyes drew Geralt’s gaze towards a bandit running away from the fight, towards a large stone platform, a flaming torch in his hand.  
  
Geralt knew what that meant. There was a bonfire ready to be lit, and once it was set aflame they’d soon be up to their neck in bandits. He hadn’t even managed to climb up to the first level yet, he’d never make it in time!  
  
“Regis!” he called, finding himself surrounded by three bandits and parrying a strike just in time, butting his head against another attacking bandit, following up his move by a spinning attack with his sword, “don’t let him light that fire!”  
  
Immediately, Regis puffed up and flew towards the man, materialising just in time to slash at his back and catch the torch, covering the flame with his hand until it extinguished. The perk of being a vampire, Geralt supposed.  
  
Hearing a whoosh through the air Geralt ducked, dodging a swipe from a haldberd. He threw up his hand and cast igni, noticing the barrel standing inconspicuously nearby when it was far too late. Holding his breath, he immediately recast his quen.  
  
The explosion threw him backwards several metres and smashed him against a stone arch. He was stuck to the stone for a few seconds, his body feeling flattened, before crumbling down onto the marshy grounds. He found himself rolling down on the grassy slope and when he came to a halt he was partway in the water. He scrunched up his nose, the smell was just _awful_ here.  
  
There was a piercing buzz in his ears and it was annoying, drowning out all other sounds. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, an invasive sucking and thudding sensation he'd rather not focus too long on. He scrambled up with a little difficulty, wanting to be as far away from the murky water as possible, feeling his feet shift from under him. He jerked awkwardly, trying to straighten out, and he managed to stumble for a few steps before collapsing between some of the bushes.  
  
His stomach felt like a fish hook had gutted him. He heaved, vomiting up bile. His head hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. The fight wasn’t over yet.  
  
All of a sudden a hand touched his shoulder and he jerked, instinctively casting aard behind him as he scuttled backwards.  
  
Breathing heavily, he blinked, taking in the scene and realising the fight was over. Regis stood before him, arms on his hips and one eyebrow raised. He seemed to be speaking, at least Geralt could see his lips moving, but for the life of him he couldn't understand what the gentle vampire was saying; the piercing buzz in his ears was still too loud. He squinted up at the vampire, a bit confused at seeing Regis’ hair sticking up in all directions. There was something off about this…  
  
Of one thing Geralt was certain: Regis was severely displeased and currently scolding him. When the vampire found out he couldn’t hear he’d be kind enough to stop and help, but Geralt was sure Regis would save his rant and unleash it on him at a better time. Geralt was watching Regis’ lips, following their movement as if from that alone he’d be able to decipher what the vampire was saying.  
  
Giving up, he raised his hand, trying to still Regis’ rant. “CAN’T HEAR YOU, REGIS! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”  
  
Regis flinched, his hands coming up to clasp over his ears.  
  
“THE EXPLOSION, RE-” Geralt suddenly found his mouth covered by Regis’ hand. The vampire was crouched down in front of him, a wince on his face. That’s when Geralt realised he must have been shouting.  
  
He stilled and grabbed Regis’ wrist, removing the vampire’s hand. “This better, Regis?” He felt his own voice resonating in his chest.  
  
Regis cocked his head, a frown marring his brow. The vampire’s lips moved again but Geralt shook his head, immediately deciding that that wasn’t the best of his ideas. He placed his own hand over Regis’ mouth, stilling his friend’s words.  
  
Regis shook his head, dislodging Geralt’s hand. That was just fine. Message received.  
  
Geralt noticed Dettlaff approaching from the side, dragging two struggling men with him. When the vampire spotted them he said something, looking back at Regis and speaking again. Then he lifted his head and straightened his shoulders, and a sneer appeared on his face as he forced the two men to stand before him. Geralt witnessed a reddish gleam flashing through Dettlaff’s eyes before the bandits crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Dettlaff looked back at him then and between one blink and the next the vampire was crouching down beside him, speaking urgently.  
  
He was getting tired of this. Geralt closed his eyes, only to open them again when a cold hand touched his cheek. Dettlaff’s face was hovering right in front of him, a bit too close for comfort; he was talking to him again.  
  
“NO USE, DETTLAFF! CAN’T HEAR! YOU TWO ALL RIGHT?”  
  
Both vampires flinched and Geralt quieted, realising he’d been shouting _again._ He reached up to his ears, his fingers coming back sticky with blood. He sighed. This had happened before, a few times even, back when he was a witcher fresh out of Kaer Morhen. Some swallow and some rest and then he’d be all right.  
  
Regis reached out a hand to his wrist and carefully grasped it within his hold. Sure that he had his attention, he nodded his head, seeming to say “we’re fine” if he read his lips correctly.  
  
“Dettlaff?” he asked at a lower volume, grabbing the vampire’s arm, “those two men, are they alive?”  
  
Dettlaff started speaking and, annoyed, Geralt rolled his eyes. “Still can’t hear you, Dettlaff. Just nod or shake your head. Are they alive?”  
  
The vampire nodded before turning his head, saying something to Regis. His friend came over and crouched down at his shoulder, touching it lightly, while Dettlaff went back to the two limp bandits, lifting them up into a sitting position before his eyes glowed red again and he spoke.  
  
Geralt looked on, intrigued at seeing what must be a vampire’s thrall as one of the men started talking. He was pleased that at least Dettlaff had remembered to leave some bandits alive for questioning. It would save so much time tracking if they could just get a clear answer for once.  
  
He rubbed a hand over his forehead, trying to ignore the dull throb behind his eye. “Ask about Damien,” he told Dettlaff, “and Sylvia Anna.”  
  
With Regis still touching his shoulder Geralt could make out the light vibrations as the vampire spoke. “Could really use some white gull now, Regis… and some swallow,” he groaned, closing his eyes and reaching for his potions’ belt. His vials were crushed, plough it. He could feel his neck tensing, his body stiffening up from the bruises he’d received when he’d smacked against the wall. He was fairly certain though that he didn’t have a concussion. He was just bruised… bruised and deafened from the explosion.  
  
A light tap on his shoulder made him open his eyes and he noticed Dettlaff sitting next to him, the two bandits behind him slumped down to the ground again. “Alive” the vampire slowly enunciated.  
  
“Alive?” Geralt asked, just to be sure.  
  
Dettlaff nodded.  
  
“Did you ask about Damien?”  
  
Dettlaff nodded again. “Alive” he mouthed, before saying something else as well.  
  
Geralt frowned. “Did you ask where he is? Do you know?”  
  
Again, Dettlaff nodded.  
  
“Is he here?”  
  
The vampire shook his head, “No”.  
  
“What about Sylvia Anna?”  
  
Dettlaff looked at him, a glare in his eyes before the vampire tapped at his own ears, then pointed back at him, shaking his head, saying something.  
  
Geralt sighed. Dettlaff had a point there. His eyes drifted towards the two bandits; they had no idea how lucky they’d been. “Should lock them up, remember a metal cage around here. Get one of the Ducal Guards to come pick them up.”  
  
Dettlaff tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at him as he started speaking, likely saying something to Regis. A glint of worry appeared in his pale eyes though and the vampire lowered his head, clearly seeking out Geralt’s eyes when he failed to respond. Then the vampire looked up, towards Regis, saying something else.  
  
Regis just touched his wrist and shook his head before tapping Geralt’s shoulder to get his attention. Once he had it he raised a thumb in the air. “Up?”  
  
Geralt nodded, before deciding that hadn’t been one of his best ideas. “Up please,” he gritted out through the vertigo.  
   
Carefully, the two vampires lifted him to his feet, making sure he was standing more or less stable on his own two feet before letting go. The moment they did though it felt like he was on a ship, his anchor gone and his head spinning. The sensation of being pushed up and down both at the same time dizzying him.  
  
Regis quickly grasped his arm and guided it over his shoulder, while the vampire’s arm came up around his waist, supporting him. Concern gleamed in his eyes and Geralt felt ashamed for worrying his dear friend so much. He should have been more careful, if he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve seen the barrel with the explosive markings on it _before_ he’d set it alight.  
  
“Happened before, Regis,” he muttered, “I’ll be fine after a swallow potion and a few hours of meditation.”  
  
Regis’ mouth opened, but apparently the vampire decided that speaking to a deaf witcher would get him nowhere. He patted Geralt’s chest plate and, when he got his attention, pointed towards his potions belt.  
  
Geralt shook his head, worsening his vertigo. “Vials got crushed in the explosion, can make swallow when I have my larger pouch.” He turned around, but a hand pressed against his chest, stopping his motion.  
  
Seeing Dettlaff in front of him, he raised his eyebrow. “What is it, Dettlaff?  
  
The vampire crossed his arm over his chest before swiping a hand out behind him and shaking his head. He looked a bit helplessly back at Regis.  
  
Regis said something to Dettlaff, gesturing at their surroundings with his chin and shaking his head before gently pulling Geralt’s waist, taking a step forward.  
  
Well that was pretty clear. Geralt forced his feet to move, glad at feeling the strength Regis possessed as that was the only thing preventing him from face planting on the ground. He allowed his friend to lead him to wherever he wanted.  
  
Regis guided him over towards one of the bedrolls lying right next to the walls of the palace ruins. Then the vampire carefully placed him down on one of the rolls and pouted his lips at him, sticking two fingers between his own teeth.  
   
Again clear enough. Using his fingers, he whistled for Roach, receiving a nod from Regis to let him know he had succeeded in making the sound. Then the vampire started fussing over him, carefully turning his eyes towards the light of one of the burning fire grates and using his fingers to carefully examine his skull.  
  
Geralt let him. Regis was a barber surgeon after all, let him find out for himself that he was relatively all right.  
  
After only several moment Roach and her two companions appeared within sight and Geralt was immensely glad to see that she was fine. He always felt a bit guilty when he had to leave her behind, uncared for while he was out on the path. And Sable and Grisetta were unused to battles and explosions, they were lucky the horses hadn’t fled the area.  
  
Dettlaff, seeing the horses, walked over towards them.  
  
“Swallow, Regis?” Geralt asked, leaning against the vampire’s side. He was feeling tired and he had a killer headache, he desperately wished for this to be over with, but first things first. “Need to make some.”  
  
Regis’ body vibrated. He obviously said something to Dettlaff as the other vampire took the potions' pouch from Roach’ saddle and brought it back over, handing it to him.  
  
Geralt started rifling through his pouch, retrieving a jar containing sliced drowner brain, a small sack containing celandine and a bottle of dwarven spirit. He frowned, remembering he didn’t carry any alcohest or white myrtle, berbercane fruit or any of the other ingredients necessary to make either an enhanced or superior swallow. Ah well, regular swallow it was.  
  
Regis held up a hand and pointed towards the bedroll, his palm held flat to the ground.  
  
Geralt wanted to shake his head, but thought better of it just in time. “This isn’t the best place to stay the night, Regis. Besides, if you know where Damien is, better we head out right away, just give me some time to prepare the potion.”  
  
Regis rolled his eyes and pointed at the bedroll again, a determined look in his eyes.  
  
“Fine… fine.” Geralt unbuckled his baldric and lay his swords at his side before lying down, helped by Regis. He started feeling incredibly grumpy that he couldn’t hear anything over the annoying buzzing in his ears. Lying down didn’t help his vertigo though and he closed his eyes, focusing on breathing in and out, feeling the air passing through the tip of his nose as he tried to keep the world from spinning.  
  
His heart leapt to his throat when something suddenly touched his shoulder and he jerked up, rolling away and forming a quen all at the same time. His head spun and he had to swallow back the nausea.  
  
Crouching down still, Dettlaff looked apologetic, holding up his hands and saying something.  
  
Geralt blinked and concluded that at least an hour must have passed. Sitting in front of a fire that hadn’t been there just a moment ago Regis was capping a flask containing an orange liquid.  
  
Pushing himself off the ground Geralt carefully rose to his feet, wobbling a bit but managing to return to the bedroll he’d been lying on.  
  
Regis came over and held out the flask of, assumedly, swallow and Geralt took it, removing the cork and sniffing the liquid, fully expecting this particular smell to reach his nostrils. Regis had had enough time to create the potion. He hadn’t noticed anything, he’d been so focused on his own breathing.  
  
Taking a few sips, Geralt put the cork back in the flask and handed it back to Regis for safekeeping; it needed to be aliquotted into his special vials so he could carry them on his belt. Perhaps in the morning. Right now he just wanted to meditate and let the concoction do its work.  
  
He shifted around until he could push himself up on his knees and get into his favourite meditation position, but Regis shook his head at him and gently pushed him down until he was lying flat out on the bedroll again.  
  
“Fine,” Geralt muttered, “sleep then.” Looking at Regis a twinge of guilt hit Geralt at seeing the worried gleam in his friend’s eyes and he reached out a hand, lightly squeezing Regis’ knee. “Am fine, Regis. Just gimme a few hours and I’ll be good as new.”  
  
A sad smile appeared on Regis’ face but the vampire gently patted the hand still on his knee and nodded.  
  
Geralt closed his eyes, trying to ignore the whirling vertigo and the high pitched buzzing, instead focusing on his breathing again.  
  
A cold hand stroking over his forehead was the last thing he felt before drifting off to sleep.  
  
*  
  
When next Geralt opened his eyes it was light out and he was feeling so much better. There was a noise to his left and he turned his head, spotting Dettlaff coming from behind one of the stone pillars.  
  
“Geralt?” Regis’ voice spoke up from his right. “How are you feeling, my friend?”  
  
He sat up, taking in the state of his body. He felt as good as new actually. His muscles had that same feeling they always did after swallow and he felt like he could eat a horse (never Roach though no matter how hungry he became) but his fatigue had gone and, best of all, he could hear again; the annoying buzz was gone, taking the nauseating vertigo with it. “Am fine, Regis. Good as new,” he reassured.  
  
Regis nodded, a pleased smile on his face. “Good… good, you had us worried there for a bit.” He handed him a water skin and a piece of bread, covered with several slices of cheese.  
  
He gladly took them, sinking his teeth into the bread. It tasted _divine._ “Didn’t mean to worry you, Regis,” he didn’t want to admit right now that he’d seen the barrel too late because he’d been tired, “promise I’ll be more careful.”  
  
“It’s a good thing you were quick to cast quen. Dettlaff has been going over the area while you slept and he noticed a charred body lying near the site of the explosion.”  
  
Geralt smiled wryly before taking a sip from the water skin. Looking up again he noticed the absence of the two bandits. “What happened? I remember you telling me they were alive.”  
  
“They are,” Dettlaff’s voice spoke from his left, “after you mentioned a cage I searched the ruins. It’s there, right on the other side,” he pointed in the direction he’d come from. “I locked them up earlier. I just came back from checking to see whether they had woken up by now.”  
  
Staring between the stone pillars and the elven arches didn’t do Geralt any good; the cage was well beyond his sight. “Need to alert the Ducal Guard. They can pick up the men and question them further.” Geralt scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Know what happened to Damien?”  
  
“The men spoke of another hanse base, north of Fox Hollow. Damien de la Tour was taken there as sole survivor of his unit, taken to Loth Halfbreed to serve as a hostage against the duchy.”  
  
“Pity they don’t know the Duchess doesn’t negotiate with bandits, ever. Gotta get him out, Regis. Man deserves better. What about Sylvia Anna?” Geralt grunted, taking another bite.  
  
“They mentioned a Syanna having shown up with a band of men a few days past. She spoke to Starling Straggen, resulting in the departure of him and more than half the hanse, together with her and her men.” Dettlaff spoke up. “They were to follow as soon as they’d taken their revenge on the White Terror.” The vampire crossed his arms over his chest and raised an accusatory eyebrow at him.  
  
Geralt blinked. “Flattered, Dettlaff, but I can promise you that that’s not referring to me. It’s a silver basilisk, one in the protection of Count di Salvaress”  
  
Regis’ eyebrows crawled up his face in surprise. “A _silver_ basilisk?"  
  
“Yes, Iocaste, she’s actually nesting somewhere close to the Trading Post.”  
  
“You know,” Dettlaff pondered, “but you did not act.”  
  
He shrugged, finishing the last bite of his bread. “I investigated the situation and made a decision I could live with. She’s the last of her kind and I had a strong word with di Salvaress. He’s trying to ward off her hunting area, an area he bought as a reserve. If no one bothers her they should be fine. Basilisks select a territory, once settled they’re unlikely to travel beyond it. If she ever strays from it and attacks one more sapient being I’ll take care of the matter, _permanently_. Not all beasts deserve to be killed just for existing, Dettlaff. Humans have hunted basilisks for decades, stolen their territories. Animals of the wild should be left with places to live.”  
  
Dettlaff nodded before walking over to the horses, who Geralt only now noticed were grazing nearby, gearless.  
  
A warm fondness settled in Geralt’s chest at seeing the animals taken care of like that. Roach was so patient with him when it came to removal of her gear; after all, too often he was out hunting, tracking day and night and Roach would only get some small periods of rest in between until they returned to a safe place. When they were safe again he would then quickly free her of her gear and spoil her rotten to make up for it. He wondered what she would say if she ever got the chance to talk to him…  
  
Dettlaff started readying the horses and Geralt watched as Sable allowed the vampire near without skittering away first. Improvement there…  
  
“One of the men told us that it looked like Syanna and Straggen were very good friends. Curious, would you not say so, Geralt?” Regis asked, packing up some of his own items.  
  
“Indeed.” Geralt stood up and strapped his baldric back on; his swords a familiar weight on his back. “North of Fox Hollow you said? Closest place to cross the water is Plegmund’s Bridge. Can stop by Coronata vineyard, ask Matilda and Liam to inform the Guard and have them send reinforcements.”  
  
“My my,” Regis said, dousing the little fire before him, “you certainly have become familiar with the people in this area.”  
  
“Travelled around quite a bit, looking for clues,” Geralt explained, heading over to Roach. “Helped out on a contract or two along the way.”  
  
Regis laughed behind him and Geralt felt a smile pulling at his own lips. It was good to hear his friend laugh again.  
  
“Good girl.” He patted Roach’ neck before checking the straps, pleased to discover everything was in place. “You gonna ride Sable?” Geralt asked, seeing Dettlaff calmly petting the black horse.  
  
Dettlaff looked thoughtful as he touched the horse’s ear, but when Sable didn’t flinch, merely twitched his ear, the vampire nodded. “Yes, he and I have reached an… understanding. We should be all right. Regis can ride Grisetta, she won’t mind.”  
  
“Good.” Mounting Roach, Geralt waited for his two companions to get up as well before setting off.  
  
*  
  
It was nearly a three hours’ ride from the Arthach Palace ruins to the vineyard and when they arrived the place was bustling with workers eagerly talking about the union of Coronata and Vermentino.  
  
Geralt rode up to the main building, where he dismounted, waiting for Dettlaff and Regis to catch up before walking up the stairs.  
  
“Ah, master Geralt!” Matilda greeted him with a warm smile. “It is so good to see you again! And you have brought some friends, could I offer you some refreshments?”  
  
“Please, just Geralt, Matilda.” Geralt examined the terrace, noticing she’d been alone.  
  
“Ah, Liam is inside, deciding on the wine for our elevenses. Please, Geralt, sit down, and your friends!”  
  
Geralt swallowed, feeling a bit peckish… feeling _a lot_ peckish actually. Swallow really increased his appetite. “Kindly take you up on your offer, Matilda. Let me introduce to you my friends. This here is Regis,” he waved his hand at the vampire, “and this is Dettlaff. They’re helping me out with a contract for Duchess Anna Henrietta.”  
  
Matilda nodded. “The one for the Beast of Virtues, am I correct?”  
  
Dettlaff growled lowly next to him and when Geralt looked back he noticed the vampire’s fingers were twitching.  
  
“In short, yes. We are investigating into the heart of the matter; as a matter of fact, it is part of the reason why we are here right now.” Geralt looked back in the direction of the courtyard, “we can’t stay for long, but we have three horses with us, could you spare them some water and oats perhaps?”  
  
Matilda tilted her head at him. “But of course, Geralt, allow me just a moment.” And with that the woman disappeared around the corner, entering the house.  
  
Geralt wandered onto the terrace, taking in the changes that had occurred since last he’d been here. There was a table tucked away in the corner of the terrace, laid out with bowls of boeuf bourguignon, brioche, baguettes with fish pâté, flamiche, gutted pheasant, sweet buns and tarte tatin. His mouth started watering and he swallowed. They had packed some food in their bags, but it was more practical food for on the road, nowhere like this feast laid out before him. His stomach grumbled and he pressed his arm to his belly.  
  
After only a moment Matilda returned, Liam by her side, carrying a jug of milk and a bottle of wine. “I sent our servants to take care of your horses,” she told them.  
  
“Master Geralt!” Liam greeted loudly, walking up to him to clap him on the shoulder. “So good of you to visit us again.”  
  
“Just Geralt, Liam. And thank you and Matilda for having us over.” Geralt returned the man’s gesture. “These are my friends Regis and Dettlaff,” he introduced them again, “unfortunately this is not a social visit, gotta head out soon.”  
  
“Please, help yourself,” Matilda sat down and pointed towards the stack of plates and cups lying on the table, ready for use, as though they had been expecting company. Geralt had gotten the impression from his time around Toussaint that the Toussaintois were always ready to receive unexpected guests, “and tell us how we may help. For you have come to us for a reason, have you not?”  
  
Helping himself to a little bit of everything Geralt eagerly dug in, and, making sure they were the only ones around he started talking in between mouthfuls of the delicious food. “Would have liked it if you could have stayed out of this, but we cannot lose any more time in following the thread and I trust you. Don’t have the time to tell you everything, but the duchy’s in grave danger. Her Grace Anna Henrietta has sent us on a quest to resolve the matter. Regis, Dettlaff and I have been following a trail toward the hanse base at the Arthach Palace ruins, where we obtained more information from two of the bandits remaining.” He reached for a glass of wine, hesitating for a moment before switching to the jug of cow’s milk instead.  
  
“And the thread is leading us towards the hanse base north of Fox Hollow. Captain de la Tour has been taken prisoner and we intend to retrieve him,” Regis went on, possessively hoarding a bowl of strawberries and nibbling on one every now and then.  
  
He really should eat more, Geralt thought, not knowing whether his friend had eaten anything while he’d slept, but knowing Regis… He cut a large piece of flamiche and put it on a plate, nudging it in the vampire’s direction.  
  
Regis looked up, surprised, but he took up a fork and took a bite of the puff pastry tart. It was gone in a few bites and then the vampire reached over the table for a sweet bun and some tarte tatin, his appetite awakened.  
  
Huh, Regis had a sweet tooth. Pleased, Geralt looked towards Dettlaff, noticing the vampire’s plate had been stacked with more of the savoury dishes. He’d made a good dent in Liam and Matilde’s supply of boeuf bourguignon and gutted pheasant and had taken a whole baguette covered with fish pâté instead of cutting off some slices as was the custom. Well good, at least one vampire was taking care of himself.  
  
“The hanse won’t stay where they are for much longer,” Geralt continued, “they’ve encountered both the knights of the Ducal Camerlengo, and the Ducal Guardsmen, and know we’re on their trail. They’ll change their plans accordingly. We must reach Fox Hollow before they set out.”  
  
“How can we help?” Liam asked, his plate still empty before him, listening attentively.  
  
“The two bandits we left behind at the Arthach Palace ruins,” Geralt waved towards the north, “if you could send for a knight errant or a member of the Ducal Guard they can pick up the men for questioning.” He winced. “Better if they take extra hands with them to clear up the place, there are scores of bodies out there. Need as many knights sent north to Fox Hollow as can be spared while leaving Beauclair still well protected, the hanse base will be at least several score large and each man will be armed. The Duchess must be warned.”  
  
Matilda raised a hand to her mouth in shock and pushed her plate away.  
  
Liam gave him a wry look and sipped heavily from his glass of wine.  
  
Geralt sighed, it could not be helped. “Matilda, Liam, I am sure I do not need to say this, but discretion is a _must_. There is a conspiracy to bring about a coup d’état and we cannot have the general populace knowing about this and stirring up unrest.”  
  
“You can count on our aid, friend, and our discretion,” Liam promised quietly.  
  
Geralt tapped his fork on his by now empty plate. “These men are not to be trifled with. Whoever you find to deal with them needs to be made aware that the charge to be laid upon these men is high treason.”  
  
Liam gulped heavily and rubbed at his forehead. “Then I shall take quick action, Geralt, elevenses can be skipped. I shall set out forthwith.”  
  
“Thank you, Liam,” Geralt thanked the man, standing up himself while eying Regis’ empty plate, “it’s time we were on our way as well.”  
  
“Regis, Dettlaff, though our encounter was but brief you are welcome to return and visit us again. Until next time, friends.” Liam bowed before them before hurrying away.  
  
Matilda rose from the table, watching Liam turn around the corner of the house. “It is a pity you cannot stay, but I understand the urgency of your quest. Come, let me lead you to your horses, or do you perhaps wish to borrow fresh ones?”  
  
Geralt looked at the two vampires. Sable and Grisetta had finally gotten used to them and they seemed bright and awake earlier; they’d clearly had some rest as well during the night. “A kind offer, Matilda, but our own horses will be fine. Thank you.”  
  
Matilda clasped her hands in front of her and led them over to their horses, who were standing near a water trough, looking bright and eager to set off. “I wish you well, masters. Please return safely.”  
  
Seeing their horses’ bridles hanging from several hooks in the wooden post next to the through Geralt felt the corner of his lips pulling upwards. He bowed to Matilda. “We shall try, my lady. Thank you for your hospitality.”  
  
Watching the woman leave Geralt and the two vampires quickly readied their horses and rode out again. Towards Plegmund’s Bridge.  
  
They kept on following the western roads, following the stream until they reached Fox Hollow. Geralt felt he would have liked the little village with its watermill, the clear stream running through it and the colourful houses surrounded by the woods, but the dead bodies strewn about and the burning wagon ruined the whole atmosphere.  
  
“Regis, Dettlaf… you hear anything?” He tried to listen for any sounds himself, eyes roving over the little village, sifting through noises and discarding the ones he deemed safe or irrelevant. He’d already liberated some other areas from monsters and bandits both and, going from what he could see here, he fully expected a party of the latter.  
  
Dettlaff cocked his head and a dour look appeared on his face. He pointed uphill. “There, at least eight of them. I can hear their heartbeats. Humans. They seem to be unaware of our arrival.”  
  
Regis rode up close to him, peering ahead, his head tilted in a manner that told Geralt he was listening as well. “If we go up the hill here we have a good chance of avoiding them altogether.”  
  
“Hmm…” Geralt had a bad feeling about this. Listening in the direction Dettlaff had pointed he had to strain his ears just a bit before hearing the sounds of heavy, wheezy breathing by at least two of the humans. Searching through his saddle bag he retrieved his flask of hanged man’s venom and started rubbing some on his steel blade. If the people up there had nothing to do with the status of this village they would leave them alone and all would be well, but if they were bandits looking for a fight he was prepared. “All right, let’s go up.”  
  
He’d just come up to the Ruddy Brush Auberge when the first shouts came from higher up. “Circle them, circle them!”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Geralt dismounted and patted Roach’ rump, silently telling her to seek cover. Bandits it were.  
  
Looking over his shoulder, he felt a bit of amusement seeing Regis and Dettlaff dismounting. To the bandits they would look like easy targets. Regis, an old man without any sort of weapon on him, seeming to stay back, and Dettlaff, having drawn his small blade from where it had been strapped to his back and holding it loosely by the handle; the small blade would be useless in parrying a sword.  
  
The way Dettlaff carried his blade was one of his quirks Geralt was secretly fond of; it made him think of the vampire as another witcher, a brother in arms…  
  
“For the prophet Lebioda!” A voice shouted from uphill and Geralt quickly cast quen while unsheathing his blade, stalking over to the human bandit and blocking the man’s oncoming blade easily.  
  
“Regis, stay back! Let me and Dettlaff handle this,” he called, spinning a half-circle, trying to get behind the man’s defence.  
  
“Geralt!” Regis’ voice objected, “I am perfectly capable of handling myself in a fight, as you well know!”  
  
“Not without any arms, you’re not!” Geralt replied, jumping in order to avoid his feet being swiped out from under him. He blocked another swipe of the blade, following up with a pirouette before finally decapitating the man.  
  
Regis hissed behind him, clearly not pleased. “Oh, bollocks, Geralt. These won’t live to tell anyone.” And with that he puffed up and swirled to one of the armed bandits running down the hill, skewering him in one move.  
  
“Ahh, fumbledunks!” One of the bandits shouted, taking something from his back. A crossbow.  
  
“You dare to kerfuffle me, _me_?” Another one called, running up at Dettlaff and surprised when the vampire disappeared, clutching at his slashed neck a breath later and falling down to his knees before collapsing.  
  
“Devils! Devils have come for us!”  
  
Redirecting an arrow, Geralt had to admit that the man above him had a steady hand, his aim precise even while frightened of them would-be devils. Running up to the man and casting axii he quickly finished off the shooter, using his momentum to turn and cast aard at one of the men running towards him.  
  
Quickly looking around himself, Geralt noticed that his was the only living bandit and he held up his hand, casting another axii. “Fight’s over. Regis, Dettlaff… got a live one here!” Staring into the man’s dazed eyes he nudged at him with the tip of his boot. “Tell us, why were you here?”  
  
“We were here to have some fun,” the dazed man replied, “gotta have some fun around these parts.”  
  
“Are you involved with either the hanse of Starling Straggen or Loth Halfbreed?” Geralt more felt than heard Dettlaff and Regis coming up beside him.  
  
“Yes, we all are in Loth’s hanse.”  
  
“Where is Loth located? And with how many are you?”  
  
“Up north of here, the Tulasens caves, they’re right next to the stream. Don’t rightly know how many are left in the caves now, used to be with, what – thirty men, thereabouts? Me and some others headed out, looking for some sport, been out here for a while.”  
  
“Do you know anything about Straggen’s hanse passing this area?” Geralt didn’t think so, he hadn’t seen any tracks indicating a large group has passed by here, but you never knew.  
  
The man shook his head slowly. “Don’t know nothing about that. Didn’t see Starling’s men, but a lot can change in a week.”  
  
Gritting his teeth, Geralt looked at Dettlaff. “At least we know the location of the base now, should be pretty easy to find.”  
  
“Geralt, what are you going to do with this one?” Regis touched his shoulder, a curious look on his face.  
  
Why was it always him having to make these decisions? If they left the man alive he could alert his friends, and he didn’t have Triss or Yen around to muddle the man’s mind permanently. Bracing himself, he breathed in and stood up, thrusting his blade through the man’s neck with one fluid move. Swallowing heavily, he whistled and walked back a bit, meeting Roach half way. Patting her neck, he reached inside one of this bags and pulled out a piece of sturdy cloth, wiping his blade clean of all the blood.  
  
“Geralt?” Dettlaff’s voice came from behind. “Are you all right?”  
  
Jerkily nodding, he sheathed his sword. “Am fine, Dettlaff. Part of the job.”  
  
Then something weird happened. There was a brush against his mind, soft and warm and gone when he blinked. Turning around, his eyes roved over the two vampires and he noticed Regis glancing away guiltily.  
  
Blinking, Geralt didn’t know how to react to that.  
  
Grabbing the pommel of his saddle he swung up onto Roach’ back. “Tulasens caves… near the stream. Bound to come upon some tracks sooner or later.”  
  
 *  
  
Keeping an ear out for anything unusual the three of them had followed the stream, first west, then north. They still didn’t see any tracks indicating that a large party had passed by; apparently Straggen’s hanse had taken a different route, but following the stream and making sure to stay under the cover of the trees they soon spotted the entrance to a cave, guarded by three men.  
  
That had to be it. The Tulasens caves.  
  
Dismounting their horses, Geralt stroked Roach’ nose. “Stay,” he muttered to the mare, “keep Grisetta and Sable out of harm’s way, would you?”  
  
Dettlaff’s eyes were focused on the men in front of the cave. “What do you wish to do?”  
  
Geralt reached behind him, feeling for the tips of his scabbards. “We need to know if Damien is in there.”  
  
Regis tapped a finger to his lips, looking thoughtful. “And it is out of the question to just simply walk into the cave and have a look around the place expecting to remain unnoticed. Nor is it wise to simply enter the caves, sword blazing and claws extended, hoping for the best. They could kill the good captain before we could even learn of his exact whereabouts.”  
  
Geralt nodded. “True, no clue as to what we’ll actually find inside, or how many men we’ll encounter, but if Straggen’s hanse joined forces with Halfbreed’s we’ll be walking into a nekker’s nest. Gotta sneak into the place, check whether Damien’s inside and if so, figure out our best chance of getting him out _alive_.”  
  
Reaching for the strap of his satchel, Regis nodded. “Rightly so. So we’re agreed. We need to investigate the situation without arousing any suspicion. Blend in, as it were. Don the cloak of shadows and stealth.”  
  
Dettlaff rolled his eyes.  
  
Geralt lifted a sardonic eyebrow at the vampires. “You know I’m but a witcher, right? Not a doppler. Not all too sure I can sneak into the caves without getting spotted. Going about Arthach Palace while there were only a few men around was difficult enough, as you have noticed.”  
  
Regis smirked. “Dear Geralt, it doesn’t always have to be you.” The vampire turned towards the cave, but before his friend could take one step farther Dettlaff stepped before him and rested his hands on Regis’ shoulders.  
  
“I can do it,” the vampire told Regis, “in and out, I’ll only be a few minutes.”  
  
Regis looked surprised and reached for Dettlaff’s wrists, peering into his eyes before finally nodding. “Please brother, no matter what you find in there, take no action. In and out, all right? Even… even if you see _her_ in this place. I’m not fond of the idea of splitting up at all.”  
  
Dettlaff’s jaw clenched and his body turned rigid, but he let go of Regis’ shoulders and nodded stiffly. “I shall… only examine what’s inside and return swiftly. No matter who or what I find.”  
  
Regis heaved a relieved breath. “Good.”  
  
Then Dettlaff puffed up into a thread of black and red smoke, swirled around the two of them once before heading over to the cave entrance. He silently passed high over the heads of the three men and swirled down into the cave. The men didn’t notice a thing.  
  
Geralt and Regis remained hidden between the bushes, waiting for Dettlaff to return. It couldn’t have been more than several minutes before a wisp of dark smoke whirled out of the cave and a moment later Dettlaff materialised between them, looking grim. The vampire rubbed his nose and his face twisted with distaste.  
  
“What did you see?” Geralt asked, curious about the vampire’s behaviour. Looking towards the cave entrance he saw the three men in front were packing up their stuff and heading inside.  
  
Dettlaff glared at the cave entrance, his lips drawing back from his teeth for a moment, revealing his sharp fangs. “I believe I have found your captain. Bald headed man, black curly mustache. A scar running from here,” Dettlaff indicated the top of his head, “to here” down to his cheek. “He wasn’t wearing any armour so I could not examine his colours, but he was the only man in a cage. He’s located on one of the higher platforms within and is in a bad shape.”  
  
Geralt hummed. “Not good, gotta get him out, Dettlaff.”  
  
Dettlaff rubbed his nose again, his mouth twisting in a grimace.  
  
Regis walked up to the other vampire, a worried look on his face. “Dettlaff, what happened? What else did you see?” He reached out, touching Dettlaff’s arm while black eyes roamed over the vampire’s form.  
  
Dettlaff waved a hand at him, shaking his head. “Humans… these humans in particular seem to be mining a specific salt in these rocks. They spoke about shipping out bath salts for selling on the market.” He rubbed his nose again. “It smelt awful and I for one would never wish to bathe with such salts, I prefer the fresh running streams.”  
  
Regis shrugged, letting his arm drop to his side. “Some humans like to bathe in mud, claiming it does wonders for their skin, and there are many more weird customs and habits that humans and non-humans have accumulated over the years. Why there once was a human who-”  
  
Geralt interrupted Regis’ rambling, placing a light hand over his friend’s mouth. It was good to see this side of Regis’ usual behaviour again though, and him teasing Regis about his garrulous speech was nothing unusual. He smiled at his friend, seeing the dark eyes twinkle in return, before turning towards Dettlaff. “You said Damien was in a cage, you wouldn’t happen to have seen a key lying about?”  
  
Dettlaff nodded. “I did, several in fact. They were lying on one of the tables nearby.”  
  
Regis carefully brushed off Geralt’s hand. “What about the hanse? How many men are there?”  
  
Dettlaff closed his eyes and Geralt could nearly see him try to count the numbers he’d seen. “At least three score men. I heard some speaking about being prepared to head towards the Rioux-Cannes outpost; they are expecting a message with such an order to arrive in a few days’ time. Then they will join the rest of their group.”  
  
Regis frowned. “So they intend to head out soon. I wonder how many there are in total?”  
  
Breathing in deeply, Geralt turned his eyes towards the cave entrance. “Let’s focus on Damien first. The hanse is clearly awaiting a signal of some kind, there’s still time.”  
  
“What do you intend to do? Dettlaff and I could simply go in and take out this hanse, if you wish?” Regis offered.  
  
Sighing, Geralt shook his head. “I’m not in the habit of mass murdering humans.”    
   
A low growl came from Dettlaff’s direction. “Geralt, it is too late for your witcher neutrality. You know these are not innocent men.”  
  
Regis lifted his head, a determined look on his face. “It is our obligation to do our utmost to prevent the coup d’état.”  
  
Geralt snorted. “And here I believed vampires were more neutral than witchers when it concerned matters of politics, especially _human_ politics.”  
  
Shrugging, Regis reached for his shoulder strap. “I hold no ill will towards Anna Henrietta. As a matter of fact, as ruling monarchs go she is one of my favourites, even despite her snippy attitude at times. So yes, or should I say, no, I am not neutral in this manner. Especially not seeing how we were dragged into this matter because of Sylvia Anna.”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “There could be some innocent miners in the caves, caught up in this whole affair. I don’t want us to go rushing in and kill everyone that moves. Our first priority should be retrieving Damien and going back go Beauclair palace in order to alert Anarietta’s troupes; the Duchess needs to know the plotters are already on the move. We can deal with the hanse later.”  
  
Regis looked at him, then at Dettlaff and some of his earlier anxiety shone through in his eyes as though he was afraid Geralt would ask one of them to set off towards the palace already, leaving the others behind.  
  
Geralt walked over toward his friend and clasped his lower arms. “No splitting up anymore, Regis, remember? We’ll get Damien, then head back _together_.”  
  
Regis gave him a wry smile in reply and lightly patted one of his wrists. “No splitting up,” he murmured softly.  
  
Dettlaff crossed his arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow. “So how do you wish to do this?”  
  
He needed more information first. “Tell me more about the layout inside, what will we encounter if we head inside?”  
  
Dettlaff started speaking. “At the front of the cave, down on the lower level there is a stream running through the cave. The humans have created bridges spanning over the water, or wooden stairs rising up to a next level. There are many tents inside; the cave resembles either a huge house or a small village. The majority of the humans are on the lower level, but approximately a dozen of them are patrolling the higher levels.”  
  
Geralt tapped his foot on the ground. “And what about stalagmites? Rock outcroppings? Foliage, anything like that?”  
  
Dettlaff nodded. “Yes, to the stalagmites and rock outcroppings. There are many of them and they are sufficiently large enough, good for cover, and where they lack I foresee you could hide behind the tents.”  
  
Well, that gave some possibilities already. “Do you think I could make the same way back with Damien, in the state he is in?”  
  
Dettlaff contemplated this for a moment before nodding an affirmative again. “Yes. Regis and I shall mist up and guide you, show you the safest route.”  
  
Geralt dipped his head. “You’ll be a lot slower if you have to guide me. How difficult is it for you to remain in that form? It’s going to take me many more minutes to stealth my way to the top, and even more on the way back if I have to carry the captain.”  
  
Shame settled on Regis’ face and from the way he was holding himself Geralt got the impression that his friend was just one hair’s breadth away from scuffing the toe of his shoe into the floor.  
  
Dettlaff sighed sadly. “In our prime health we could maintain the form for half an hour, but right now? Several minutes at best.”  
  
Regis hunched a bit, clearly withdrawing into himself. “P-perhaps it w-would be b-b-better if- if I r-remain ou-outside?” the vampire stuttered.  
  
An uncomfortable tingle gripped something in Geralt’s chest at hearing his friend’s awful stutter.  
  
Dettlaff had rushed over to Regis though before Geralt could even say anything and the vampire cupped Regis’ face, pressing their foreheads together. “Regis, dear heart,” he said softly, barely loud enough for Geralt to make out, “together, remember? If there are places for Geralt to hide there are places for us as well.”  
  
Regis held his breath, his body tense, and he didn’t reply.  
  
Dettlaff growled and grasped the back of Regis’ neck. “ _Together_ , brother.”  
  
Finally, Regis swallowed before jerkily nodding his head. “Together,” he mouthed, though Geralt couldn’t actually hear him speak that time, it was too soft. He could easily imagine Regis now back in his youth, as the shy vampire he’d said he’d been.  
  
For a moment Geralt wanted to reconsider and tell him to stay behind after all, perhaps with Dettlaff. Regis’ mask of calm had started to crack and the vampire’s instable mind revealed itself in flashes. The best thing for him would be to rest and recover in a safe place. Geralt sighed harshly. But destiny, whether he believed in it or not, had something else in store for them. When this whole Rhenawedd – Sylvia Anna fiasco was over he was inviting his friend over to Corvo Bianco, to stay as long as he liked. He hadn’t had the opportunity to show him his alchemy worktable yet, Geralt was sure Regis’ would be thrilled to see what he’d discovered in his cellar.  
  
Blinking, Geralt was drawn back to the present, noticing dark eyes staring up at him. Regis reached for the strap of his satchel again, fingers jittering over the leather.  
  
“Apologies, Geralt, I realise I am not the most reliable source to make this next statement, but we are ready now. We shall mist up and guide the way,” Regis hesitated, slightly embarrassed, “when required we shall materialise and recover for a bit before moving onwards.”  
  
“No apologies needed, Regis,” Geralt said softly. Then he made his next decision and just blurted out his thoughts. “Just wish for all of this to be over already. For you to come back with me to Corvo Bianco and stay as long as you like. Holding siesta, lazing about, doing other stuff…” he looked at the other vampire, “invitation counts for you as well, Dettlaff. I just wish… that I could _help_ you, Regis.” He shrugged helplessly.  
  
A fond look appeared on Regis’ face and his friend smiled at him, though a bit sadly, before enveloping him in an embrace, squeezing just once before letting go. He looked a bit calmer after that. “Thank you, my dear friend. Now… it is time to retrieve Captain de la Tour.”  
  
The three of them moved closer to the cave entrance, taking care not to be spotted by anyone and then, with a nod, Regis puffed up into a wisp of smoke, Dettlaff quickly puffing up after him.  
  
Geralt breathed in deeply. It was time.  
  
*  
  
It was actually pretty easy to first descend into the cave, wading through the stream and avoiding the patrolling humans on the first level. Geralt had already mentally prepared for getting his boots and trousers wet, he never liked it but he’d grown used to it long ago.  
  
The two vampires were swirling in front of him as wisps of coloured smoke and he was glad that they went slow enough so he could follow them easily. It must be a bother for Dettlaff to go this slow, especially as he had done this trip only a few minutes earlier and could easily gut every human and nonhuman in sight if he so wished.  
  
Gripping onto a ledge, Geralt heaved himself up and over where Dettlaff guided both he and Regis. He ended up behind a series of stalagmites and reached for one of the potions on his belt. Cat. Immediately he could see the interior of the cave better, _everything_ was clearer. He saw the humans milling about, but he was sure that he could be silent enough for them, slipping through the shadows all the way to the upper level and then back again. It would just require some time.  
  
When they turned a corner Geralt noticed Dettlaff’s darker smoke-form pushing Regis down behind a stalagmite and a moment later the two vampires materialised into their human forms. Geralt ducked behind a large boulder, staying well out of the sight of the patrollers one level above.  
  
Geralt understood now what Dettlaff had meant with the smelly bath salts and he frowned, seeing some small light-coloured crystals lying on one of the tables. He wondered where the hanse stored the rest of the mined crystals and what was so special about them that anyone, human or nonhuman, would buy this? He cocked his head, deciding there must be some other process involved still in order to get the best benefit from the salts, but to make them more attractive for the buyers. Right now they smelled just _awful_.  
  
He rubbed at his nose, lamenting the fact that he didn’t have anything to cover his nose with. He suppressed a huff, imagining Vesemir telling him to witcher up and quit being a wuss…  
  
The three of them stayed where they were for a minute or so before Geralt looked over and noticed Regis looking back at him, radiating determination. His friend nodded at him and puffed up, followed by Dettlaff; leading the way again.  
  
In this fashion it took them what must have been nearly fifteen minutes to reach the top, unseen, and Geralt was actually pretty pleased at sneaking through such a large camp without setting off any alarms. He should take a vampire or two more often with him to watch out for him and show the way.  
   
A metal grate in the ceiling let in the sunlight and Geralt could easily spot the cage all the way at the back.  
  
Suddenly Regis’ smoke-form whirling towards him and he was surprised when his friend circled behind his back and managed to push him forward, nudging him over towards a large rock, well before the sound of several pairs of heavy boots reached his own ears.  
  
He definitely needed to take a higher vampire with him next time he sneaked into a place, Geralt decided.  
  
Regis swirled away and materialised behind one of the stalagmites, looking a bit worn, but unwavering. His eyes roamed the cave until he’d spotted Dettlaff, a bit farther away.  
  
Geralt waited for the vampire’s go ahead before he started moving towards the cage, picking up the set of keys from the table. The two vampires materialised next to the cage. Dettlaff tilted his head, clearly listening, while Regis moved right in front of the cage door and crouched down.  
  
Geralt came over with the keys and noticed it was indeed Damien lying in there. The man’s armour had been removed, leaving him in a thin undershirt and his leggings, and it was incredibly easy to spot the bloody patches on the light tunic, the bruises on the man’s face and the odd angle of his arm. The captain’s eyes were closed.  
  
“Damien?” Geralt whispered, not daring to raise his voice any louder lest he be heard by the patrol. Not receiving any response he quickly but quietly unlocked the door, allowing Regis to enter the cage so he could examine the captain better.  
  
Regis settled into his barber surgeon mode. “Captain de la Tour, if you hear me, I am a friend, sent by Anna Henrietta. My name is Regis. Can you open your eyes? Or give any other indication that you can hear me?” He stayed quiet for a moment, waiting for a response.  
  
Dettlaff started hissing quietly, looking over his shoulder.  
  
Regis looked back over his shoulder too, catching Dettlaff’s gaze before turning back to his patient. His hands were sure and his eyes clear and focused as he carefully touched a hand to the captain’s neck. The vampire nodded to himself and then carefully turned the man’s head, trying to get a better look at the source of the blood.  
  
The only warning they had was a slight shifting of the man’s body before Damien’s eyes opened and his hand shot out, grasping Regis’ wrist in a white knuckled grip. “NO!” the man gritted out loudly, his voice echoing off the cave walls.  
  
Geralt froze, hearing a shout nearby, followed by stomping of heavy boots.  
  
Regis stood up, backing away from the cage and Dettlaff moved over towards him. “Geralt, if you would, please, stay here with Captain de la Tour.” Regis’ figure morphed until he was in his vampiric shape. “Dettlaff and I will handle this. Only those that attack us, not to worry.”  
  
Geralt nodded and went over to the cage, crouching down next to Damien. Dazed blue eyes with extremely large pupils were trying to focus on him. “Damien, Anarietta sent us. We’ve come to get you out. You’re safe now,” he reassured, casting a quen large enough to protect both of them from any flying bolts.  
  
Then Dettlaff changed to his vampiric shape, and Geralt’s gaze hovered first over Regis, then Dettlaff as he took in their different appearances. Regis’ ears were thin and pointed and his nose had become flattened whereas Dettlaff’s ears were more rounded, like an elf’s and his nose was more pointed. Both the vampires’ teeth showed, revealing further differences there as well. Interesting.  
  
And then they puffed up into smoke, only to materialise again, still in their vampiric shapes, slashing an approaching bandit each.  
  
“Praised be the prophet Lebioda!” A third bandit shouted, coming up behind the first two, his sword pulled out already. “Die you swine!” His shout turned into a shriek of terror though when Dettlaff and Regis turned around, revealing their shapes but before he could make any more sounds Dettlaff swiped at him, skewering him on his claw.  
  
Too late though. The man’s shouting was sure to have drawn the attention of the hanse members on the lower levels. Geralt cocked his head, listening and grimacing as he’d assumed correctly. A cacophony of voices had started up below and the familiar noises of swords unsheathing and men running reached his ears.  
  
“Stay with Damien, Geralt,” Regis ordered, “Dettlaff, with me.” The two vampires puffed up and swirled down towards the lower level, ready to meet the bandits straight on.  
  
Looking at Damien, Geralt was secretly glad that the man had fallen back unconscious. The less people who knew that Regis and Dettlaff were not human, the better and the captain was bound to report back to the Duchess if he found out about them.  
  
Sighing, Geralt renewed his quen, resigned to let the two vampires handle the hanse while he waited here with Damien. He kept his ears focused on the happenings on the lower level and for several minutes the cave was filled with echoing battle shouts and the occasional scream.  
  
Geralt snorted, hearing some of the battle cries. So far “pam pamparaam” was one of his favourites. The two vampires fought silently though. No growls or hisses, battle cries or other shrieks; picking off the bandits with silent determination.  
  
“No, Regis get down!” Dettlaff’s voice suddenly shouted and immediately Geralt perked up, alert. “IMPS… FROGS, REGIS **_MOVE_**!” The vampire’s voice shouted, hysterical.  
  
“Dettlaff? NO!” Regis shouted, worrying Geralt even more.  
  
Then there was a high-pitched screeching and more screams, followed by what could only be the hanse base being torn down to bits. Tents shredded, tables turned, what sounded like rock crushing and metal clattering to the ground.  
  
What was going on? Looking down at Damien and pretty sure that the captain would be relatively safe, Geralt quickly left the cage, drawing his steel sword from its scabbard on his back. He rushed down, careful where he stepped when he reached the lower level. The cave floor was a mess, scattered with bodies and debris.  
  
Fear beat in his chest when he saw Regis hitting one of the cave walls and slump down, though the vampire seemed to be relatively unharmed as he pushed himself up again and sought cover behind one of the rock outcroppings.  
  
There was a bat, a very _large_ bat, violently swiping its wings, taking down some tents that had still been standing before the beast jumped, huge claws extended before it smashed itself against a set of stalagmites that shattered under the impact. The bat’s wings jerked up and down, slamming against the floor of the cave as the beast tried to right itself.  
  
Geralt was pretty sure this was Dettlaff in his bat form and he had to force himself to breathe in slowly to quell his increasing fear and concern for his friend. Regis had told him once that vampires could only transform willingly with the full moon and any other time they did so only occurred when severely distressed. What had happened?  
  
The bat had righted itself and had started moving jerkily, its wings violently twitching up and down, tripping the beast up and the bat screeched.  
  
A puff of smoke appeared beside him and a moment later a distressed Regis had materialised next to him. “Geralt,” the vampire breathed, “it’s Dettlaff!” Before he could say anything else both of their attentions were drawn to the black bat, which jumped up again, bashing against the solid rock walls of the cave.  
  
Perversely, the bat’s behaviour reminded Geralt a bit of a moth trapped inside the glass casing of a lantern, tapping away on the sides, reaching out for an escape while at the same time being drawn back to the flame. Geralt clenched his jaw, swallowing heavily as he sheathed his steel sword. Well, a very large moth with an incredible amount of power, dead-set on killing itself. With his cat potion still active he could easily see the black fur of the bat’s face gleaming and he knew it was blood.  
  
“Dettlaff!” Geralt shouted, casting quen and running towards the agitated bat. Why was he hurting himself? What had happened?  
  
“Geralt, no! He’s not himself!” Regis warned, though he seemed to be frozen in place.  
  
All of a sudden Geralt saw the dark snout turn in his direction and red gleaming eyes focus on his form. The bat fluffed itself up and leapt forward.  
  
Holding his breath, Geralt thought that this was it, the mistake that got him killed, but while he’d expected fangs or claws ripping through him he was surprised when instead, the bat missed him and landed just behind him. The terrified shout that got cut off mid-scream made him turn around and he saw Dettlaff tearing at the remains of a bandit, the man’s haldberd still gripped tightly in his hand.  
  
The bat’s wings flared out and Dettlaff jerkily turned around, hissing and clicking as he stomped over towards Geralt, looking like a puppet which’ strings had become entangled. He looked to be in pain but Dettlaff determinedly headed towards him and pressed his snout against his chest, forcing Geralt down to the floor before immediately settling himself down on top of him.  
  
When Regis approached the bat hissed angrily and Dettlaff’s wings flared out, trembling wildly, before he settled down, jerkily trying to fold his wings.  
  
Geralt froze, looking up at Dettlaff from his position underneath him. He was too afraid to say anything lest he set off another burst of violent behaviour. Then the cave turned darker; the cat potion had finished.  
  
The huge bat was carefully positioned on top of him, more hovering over him than letting his full weight settle directly, and Geralt could feel the bat’s muscles tremble and twitch against him. One wing flared out and Geralt followed its movement instinctively, noticing its damaged state. He winced at seeing the ragged holes; if this were Dettlaff’s wings after years of healing he didn’t want to imagine how they had been when they’d just been damaged.  
  
Dettlaff’s weight shifted as he tried to change his position and Geralt sucked in a breath as a long and _sharp_ claw slid over his armour’s chest piece. The bat seemed to startle and tried to resettle himself in a better position, but suddenly he twitched harshly and his claw slipped down the metal and with a startled squeak Dettlaff tried to stop his slide downwards by grabbing onto Geralt’s arm.  
  
Wincing, Geralt looked up at the huge bat, and Dettlaff instantly stilled and spread his legs so both of his claws came to rest completely on the floor of the cave. The awkward position caused more of the bat’s weight to settle on him and Geralt carefully reached out a hand. Dettlaff could have taken his head off already if he’d wanted to hurt him. Settling his hand in the patch of fur he could reach he gently stroked the twitching bat.  
  
Geralt tilted his head back, trying to get a look at Dettlaff’s face, noticing the furry muzzle that was so much longer than Regis’, and the sharp teeth peeking through. He shuddered, wanting to get out from under the vampire. Friend or not, he was way too close to those deadly fangs.  
  
Dettlaff stared back at him, reddish eyes gleaming with distress as the vampire tilted his head at him, squeaking every few seconds.  
  
Sighing, Geralt tried to look for Regis.  
  
At least Dettlaff had stopped smashing himself against the cave walls. He was actually pretty warm in this form and Geralt wondered if Regis would have been too; Dettlaff had told him that Regis had changed back at Tesham Mutna and had basically hovered over him, much the same as Dettlaff was doing now, but he had no recollection of that whole experience.  
  
“Dettlaff, brother?” Regis’ soft voice came from somewhere beyond his sight; Dettlaff’s fur was blocking his vision. “You can let go of Geralt now, we’re safe, the humans have been dealt with.”  
  
The bat’s head turned around and Dettlaff snarled loudly before squeaking again. He twitched and his wings shook loosely, uncoordinatedly flopping about and jostling Geralt as his furry chest heaved. And then, with a pitiful whine, Dettlaff turned his head back around and lay it on the floor of the cave, right next to Geralt’s head. The squeaking started up again.  
  
Wriggling a bit until he could reach a hand up higher, Geralt slowly reached for the bat’s ear, pretty sure that Dettlaff wouldn’t bite off his hand; he was clearly protecting him. He started slowly stroking the soft furry ear, hoping it would soothe the agitated vampire. “Hush, Dettlaff, it’s gonna be all right.”  
  
Regis walked over to him, warily keeping his eyes on the huge bat, but when Dettlaff didn’t react to him anymore he slowly inched closer. His nose started twitching as he inhaled deeply and a frown settled on his brow. “Geralt?” Regis sat down on his knees next to the two and reached his hand out towards Dettlaff’s snout. “Are you all right?”  
  
Dettlaff’s only reaction to Regis was a twitching of his ear and a curious sniff before he closed his eyes, rubbing his head on the floor of the cave.  
  
Still rubbing Dettlaff’s ear, Geralt met his friend’s gaze. “Am fine, Regis.”  
  
“Dettlaff, brother?” Regis gently touched one of the bat’s wings. “Can you move off of Geralt now?”  
  
The large bat squeaked before awkwardly unfolding his wings and spreading them out on the floor, but he seemed to be taking care to keep most of his weight away from Geralt.  
  
“Regis?” Geralt twisted around, trying to catch his friend’s eyes, but the body on top of him was making it extremely difficult to move. “Regis? Damien needs your help, please go and check up on him while I try to get through to Dettlaff.”  
  
“But what if-?” Regis clearly didn’t want to leave.  
  
Geralt shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like Dettlaff’s going anywhere right now, call you if anything changes. Go, check up on the captain!”  
  
Standing up, Regis shakily nodded his head. “I shall be back soon. Please, try to get through to him, my friend.”  
  
Pinned beneath the heavy vampire and resigned that he wasn’t going anywhere unless Dettlaff decided to get off of him, Geralt reached up and carefully started stroking the furry neck. “Dettlaff? Can you hear me? You can let go now, the men are dead. It’s just the four of us. We’re safe…”  
_  
_ He heard Regis’ voice coming softly from above. “Damien’s alive, Geralt, though his condition is dire. I shall do what I can for him,” then the vampire started muttering to himself and Geralt could just make out “belladonna” and the soft clink of glass vials.  
  
Dettlaff trembled and released a pitiful breathy squeak before he lifted his face from the floor and moved it over to Geralt’s other side, nuzzling the cave floor before falling still.  
  
Concerned, Geralt reached up to the vampire’s ear. “Can you change back, Dettlaff? Or lift a bit so I can move out from under you? You’re heavier than you look…”  
  
A wing flapped weakly, once, before Dettlaff managed to fold his limb close to his body, causing Geralt to end up entangled between the wing and Dettlaff’s body. Then the bat released a tiny whimper and all the tension in his body released, and Geralt found himself squashed by Dettlaff’s full weight.  
  
“Dett-laff?” He tried to move out of Dettlaff’s hold, but he couldn’t even squirm now. “Re-gis,” he wheezed, feeling his body starting to tingle. “Need… some help… here.”  
  
A blue-grey mist rushed towards him barely three seconds after he’d spoken, materialising into his dear friend. Regis’ panicked eyes took in the scene and he reached for Dettlaff’s neck, then moved his hand up to the huge bat’s ear. “This is not good, Geralt. He’s far too hot.”  
  
Regis gently pried his hand below Dettlaff’s wing and carefully tried to fold it out, but after a few tries he shook his head. “It’s locked in position and I fear to use more force; I’ll be more likely to break his arm before pulling you free. Hold on for a moment longer while I try something else…”  
  
“Hea-vy, Re-gis,” Geralt gritted out, having difficulties catching his breath.  
  
Regis nodded. “I’ll try and be quick.” Then he reached out towards Dettlaff’s cheek and closed his eyes.  
  
After a few moments the form on top of him rippled and shrank and within the span of a few seconds instead of a huge bat, now Dettlaff’s human and naked form was lying on top of him. He was still heavier than he’d expected, but at least Geralt could breathe easier.  
  
Reaching out a hand to the pale back, Geralt was surprised at feeling the vampire so warm and the sweat clinging to his skin. Twisting his head to the side he easily spotted the blood on Dettlaff’s face, running down his flushed cheeks. His eyes were moving wildly behind closed lids and the vampire’s heart was beating wildly against Geralt’s chest, the heavy thud resonating through his armour.  
  
“Dettlaff?” Geralt tried again.  
  
“Here, let me,” Regis’ wavering voice said as he carefully rolled Dettlaff to the side, having less difficulty untangling his unconscious friend’s limbs from around Geralt and wrapping a blanket he’d obtained from somewhere around Dettlaff’s form. “You just rest now, Dettlaff,” he said softly, stroking the bloody forehead with a trembling hand.  
  
“What happened, Regis?” Geralt asked, sitting up.  
  
“W-we were picking off the b-bandits one by one and I was just taking care of one when…” Regis pointed down, his gaze drawn to one of the tables. “T-those salts… one of the men carried some powder smelling just like it and threw it in Dettlaff’s face. He breathed in some, just a tiny bit, and we thought nothing of it, but then several minutes later he...” Regis whimpered and reached for Dettlaff’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over the pulse point while his other hand tangled in the dark hair. “Our bond… it feels… _gutted_. Dettlaff’s emotions… There… I… he…” Agony appeared on Regis’ face and it pulled at Geralt’s own heart.  
  
Shuffling over, Geralt lay his hand over the one Regis had wrapped around Dettlaff’s wrist. Looking down at the unconscious vampire his stomach clenched unpleasantly. He’d never before experienced a drugged vampire, the closest thing he’d ever encountered along these sorts had been the drunk katakan in Oxenfurt, but this pink drug… to have this effect on a _higher_ vampire…  
  
They had a major problem. Upstairs, Damien was in a dire condition, and now Dettlaff affected by an unknown drug. _Too many unknowns._ If they were producing it here there must be some description on how to make the stuff, right? Perhaps if he could figure out what was in it he could determine the drug’s effect, perhaps even create an antidote for it?  
  
“Regis,” Geralt said calmly, “you take Dettlaff upstairs toward Damien, keep an eye on both of them. I need to check around. Need to find the recipe for this stuff. Can you do that?”  
  
Wrapping Dettlaff tighter in his hold, Regis nodded and Geralt changed his position a bit. “Help you up?”  
  
“Please, Geralt.” Regis got his feet under him and slowly stood up, using Geralt as a counter point to raise himself to a standing position. He easily managed to keep a hold on Dettlaff, not showing any signs of strain.  
  
Geralt smiled wryly. Regis was a lot stronger than he seemed, that he knew, but it always awed him when Regis demonstrated his strength. Squeezing his friend’s shoulder he gave him an encouraging smile before heading down to a lower level. He started searching through the tents and wandered around several cave passages, searching for _anything_ , any sort of indication that would explain what Dettlaff had been dosed with.  
  
He was surprised to find a quite familiar setup on one of the lower levels, one he had seen earlier in a hut in Bowden, and another, a much larger one, near Flotsam. Carefully opening one of the lids on the containers nearby he discovered more of the pink salt that had been lying around on the tables.  
  
It was next to the installation that Geralt found a piece of paper and, curious, hopeful, he took it. _Falka Salts_ , the header proclaimed, a recipe scribbled hastily below. Signed by Vimos Bartok.  
  
Gritting his teeth and breathing through them Geralt tried to calm the rage roiling through his body as he tucked the paper away in his potions’ pouch. _The incense seller._ He’d let the man leave, all those years ago, back in Flotsam. He wouldn’t be so luckily when Geralt found him.  
  
His mission more or less successful, he headed back upstairs.  
  
Regis was cradling Dettlaff, having opened the blanket, letting the cool air of the cave touch his overheated skin. Damien was still in the now open cage, his arm in a sling and his ankle splinted and bandaged.  
  
Seeing his confused look, Regis explained. “He’s too hot, Geralt. Were he a human, his brain would be boiling now.”  
  
“The stream outside… could use it to cool him down?” Geralt murmured.  
  
Regis blinked and a gleam of hope shot through his eyes. “Indeed it could. But first…” With one hand he rummaged around in his satchel and took out a potion, popping the cap before placing the vial at Dettlaff’s lips.  
  
“What’s that?” Geralt asked as he watched Regis slowly stroking Dettlaff’s neck, making the vampire swallow.  
  
“It’s my regeneration potion, I’m…” Regis looked a bit guilty, “I’m afraid to give him my blood, especially after such a violent display…” Capping his vial and putting it back in his satchel Regis readjusted his hold on Dettlaff and, cradling him tightly to his chest, managed to stand up before Geralt could move over to help him up. He made it seem so easy, as though Dettlaff weighed nothing, though Geralt now knew how _heavy_ the man was. “Will… will you-?”  
  
Tilting his head at Regis, Geralt looked at Damien and went over to the cage, mulling only for a moment on the best way to carry the injured captain and deciding that carrying him over his left shoulder would be the best option. Picking him up and lifting him onto his shoulder he slowly followed Regis down and out.  
  
The moment they were back in the clear air Geralt immediately breathed in deeply, pleased at seeing the colours of dusk and feeling the fresh breeze on his face.  
  
Regis had walked only a little bit away from the cave and had already taken Dettlaff out of the blanket and carried him into the water. He took care to submerge every part of Dettlaff’s body that was below his neck, trying to cool the vampire down.  
  
Walking over to the discarded blanket, Geralt carefully put Damien down next to a little fireplace and he cast a careful igni on the logs. They were bound to spend the night here; he’d whistle for the horses in a moment and get the captain a blanket.  
  
Satisfied that Damien was as comfortable as he was going to be for a while, Geralt quickly walked over to the stream, crouching down near where Regis had waded in.  
  
Seeing Regis anxiously stroking Dettlaff’s temple he felt his heart clench and he nearly wished that the rumours about heartless and emotionless witchers were true. “Regis?”  
  
Jerking his head up, Regis hissed at him, baring his fangs for only a moment before he seemed to realise who he was. Then he immediately stopped, looking apologetic.  
  
Geralt knew Regis wouldn’t leave the stream until Dettlaff’s temperature had lowered to an acceptable level. “You all right like that?” he asked nonetheless, worried for his friend.  
  
Regis nuzzled the top of Dettlaff’s head with his cheek. “Hmmm,” he hummed.  
   
Geralt frowned. “What’s your estimate?”  
  
Regis’ breath hitched. “I- I don’t know,” he said with a small voice.  
  
Geralt nodded towards the cave. “I found a recipe. The name on it, Vimos Bartok, he’s an incense seller from Flotsam, though the village’s people accused it of having the same effects as fisstech. Dettlaff’s symptoms… they remind me of a fisstech overdose, Regis.”  
  
Regis was silent for a long moment, though his hand fluttered lightly over Dettlaff’s neck before moving down to his arms.  
  
Worry started gnawing at him. “Regis, Dettlaff _needs_ you. Come on, dear friend, _think_.”  
  
Finally, Regis nodded jerkily. “S-similar to f-fisstech, but with this drug affecting Dettlaff, and so quickly, no ordinary batch. Much stronger. If- if it does this to one of us…”  
  
Geralt nodded. “And what would you do for a patient overdosing on fisstech?”  
  
Silence.  
   
“Regis!” Geralt called urgently.  
  
“I- I’d… admit a slight tranquilizer, calm the heart and any muscle seizures. And… what I’m doing now, cooling down an overheated body.”  
  
Geralt nodded. “You got any tranquilizer in your satchel?”  
  
Regis shook his head. “Don’t think it would work on Dettlaff anyways. I’ve never needed to treat one of my own kind, not for this…”  
  
Geralt sighed and stood up, whistling for Roach, hoping the other two horses would follow her as they’d done before.  
  
His own alchemy would get them nowhere. Geralt had been hit in the face once with a fistful of fisstech by Marietta Loredo and none of his potions had worked to negate the effects. Half high he’d had to continue his quest and he’d been lucky he hadn’t turned into a mindless berserker.  
  
Waiting for the horses to arrive, and Geralt knew it would only take a few moments as Roach usually responded pretty quickly to his calls, he went over to Damien and took in the man’s state. He was certain Regis hadn’t managed to get a full look at him yet. Crouching down next to the captain he examined him, noticing the bandages Regis had tied in place, the splinted ankle and the arm tied to his chest. Sniffing deeply he could smell the lingering scent of one of Regis’ potions.  
  
Taking off a glove, Geralt reached out to Damien’s neck, feeling his pulse flutter against his fingers. The captain wasn’t out of the woods yet.  
  
Hearing the sound of horse hooves behind him Geralt looked around, pleased to see all their horses had shown up, though Sable and Grisetta looked a bit skittish.  
  
Standing up he walked over to Roach. “Good girl,” he muttered, lightly patting her neck before taking his bedroll from the saddle and spreading it out on the ground before carefully wrapping Damien within its folds. Regis would be able to shift the roll just enough if he needed to examine the man further. “You hold on there, de la Tour,” he said softly to the unconscious man, “the Duchess is incredibly fond of you, you cannot disappoint her.”  
  
Geralt stripped himself down to his braies, placing his clothes close to the fire so they would hopefully dry, and noticed that one of his arms was covered in tiny puncture marks. Dettlaff’s claw had been sharp, but luckily hadn’t done too much damage. Though his armour… Geralt groaned, turning the chest plate up; at this rate he was going to make trips to Lafargue on a weekly basis.  
  
Perhaps his feline armour would be ready though when they returned?  
  
Heading over to the stream, he looked at the two vampires and a pang of _something_ shot through his heart seeing Regis fretting so anxiously.  
  
Dark eyes looked up at him as he waded into the stream. “Geralt? What are you doing?”  
  
Geralt moved over until he stood right next to Regis. “You have a look at Damien, can you do anything to improve his condition?” He held out his arms. “You can give him to me, Regis. I can hold him for a while.”  
  
Regis seemed to be like a father with a newborn babe as he carefully transferred Dettlaff to Geralt’s hold. “I trust you, Geralt, you know I do,” he murmured, squeezing his shoulder lightly before exiting the water.  
  
Settling Dettlaff a bit better in his grip, he gently touched the vampire’s forehead; it was far too warm. Sighing, Geralt mentally prepared himself for a long stay in the cooling water.  
  
In the meanwhile Regis had gone over to Damien and was busy giving him an additional potion from his satchel before checking the bindings and all the while the man didn’t wake up.  
  
Geralt didn’t know how long he’d been in the water, but all of a sudden Dettlaff bucked upwards before falling down and his body grew tense. The vampire started wheezing and when his arms jerked up out of the water Geralt noticed his hands had shifted into long and deadly claws.  
  
“Regis! Need some help here!” He called, taking care not to shout too loudly as he didn’t want to upset Dettlaff and Regis was certain to have heard him anyways.  
  
Regis was quickly by his side and took Dettlaff back into his own arms, carefully but tightly holding on to the thrashing form and shifting his hold so that Dettlaff’s face was cradled in the crook of his neck.  
  
Geralt saw Regis’ eyes close as he started stroking Dettlaff’s head.  
  
After only a few moments Dettlaff calmed down again, his chest heaving up and down as he nuzzled his nose over Regis’ neck. For a moment Geralt feared that Dettlaff would sense the blood under his nose and bite, but Dettlaff just rested there, silent… still.  
  
Regis slowly moved out of the water, carrying Dettlaff tucked against his chest.  
  
Geralt left the water right behind him and hurried over to Roach, retrieving his own blanket from her back. Picking up the discarded blanket Regis had found inside, Geralt helped his friend dry off the unconscious vampire before wrapping him again in Geralt’s dry one.  
  
“There’s nothing any of us can do for either of them now,” Regis whispered, a haunted look on his face, “all we can do is allow them some time to rest before we have to move. You could…” the vampire swallowed, resting his cheek on top of Dettlaff’s head, “you could head on out? The Duchess must be warned.”  
  
Shaking his head, Geralt reached out to touch the back of Regis’ neck, waiting for his friend to look up first before speaking. “No splitting up, remember? Liam will take care of warning the Duchess and the knights.” He pressed his own forehead to Regis’, as the vampires sometimes did to him and more often to one another, hoping his meaning was clear.  
  
Releasing a shaky breath, Regis leaned into the touch. When he pulled back he had a determined look on his face.  
  
Helping him move Dettlaff a bit lower so the vampire’s head rested on Regis’ lap, Geralt quickly went over to one of his bags and got out some dry braies before pulling on his trousers and his light shirt. Then he settled down on Regis’ other side, next to Damien. He really hoped Dettlaff would be able to fight off the drugs and recover soon; he didn’t like seeing the vampire in such a state.  
  
He didn’t know what they would do if he didn’t wake up.  
  
Removing the recipe for _Falka Salts_ from his pouch, Geralt examined the innocuous looking piece of paper for a while, pondering the ingredients. He wanted to burn the recipe, but instead he folded it several times and put it back.  
  
Looking up at the stars above them he sighed. Now, they could only wait…  
  
~*~  
  
_Regis  
_  
It was a few hours later when Regis felt Dettlaff stirring. Stroking his head, Regis perked up, paying close attention. “Dettlaff?” he whispered, barely loud enough for even a vampire to hear. He’d only just managed to convince Geralt to rest, if not sleep then at least some meditation, and he didn’t want to disturb his young friend.  
  
Geralt had reluctantly given in and had then put some extra branches in the fire before settling himself down next to it.  
  
Dettlaff’s brows pulled downwards and his brother grimaced, but finally, after a few moments the vampire blinked slowly and opened his eyes, hazily peering up into night sky. He looked exhausted, haggard, and his eyes were bloodshot.  
  
Regis carefully reached out to their bond, tugging on it lightly to feel its strength before sending a warm and calm **_safe_** over it.  
  
Dettlaff breathed in deeper and blinked a few times before sluggishly turning his head until their eyes met. He seemed to be looking at him as though he held the answers to all his questions, **_confusion_** clear on his face and ringing through their bond.  
  
“Hey,” Regis breathed, smiling gently and touching a hand to a naked shoulder, “you’re going to be fine, Dettlaff.” The skin was still a bit too warm for a vampire, but it was nowhere near the blazing heat it had been before. A fisstech overdose… a _super_ fisstech. And this was a drug lab supposedly meant to supply for humans. Bartok would leave nothing but corpses in his wake…  
  
Suddenly Geralt startled from his meditation and looked up at him with wide eyes, frozen in place, and Regis realised he’d been hissing quite loudly.  
  
Breathing in and out several times he tried to calm himself. _Vimos Bartok._ He felt his hands shifting to claws and forced himself to try harder. Dettlaff needed him.  
  
Dettlaff’s nostrils flared and his eyes were drawn to Regis’ other side, landing on Geralt. “Re-rejush?” he slurred, blinking several more times. The vampire was clearly fighting to stay awake, but his exhausted body disagreed and pale eyes closed again. Dettlaff turned his head to the side and nuzzled into Regis’ leg before stilling _._  
  
**_Concerned_** , Regis ghosted a hand over the patch of skin that was still bloody and bruised, disquieted to notice that Dettlaff’s healing was much slower. To do this to one of them. **_Fear_**.  
  
Next to him Geralt was observing them calmly, the human captain lying unconscious in a bedroll on his other side. The way Geralt’s head was cocked told Regis that he was listening to something else, but his eyes were focused on Dettlaff.  
  
Noticing his helpless look, Geralt smiled wryly at him. “He recognised you, that’s good, Regis.”  
  
Regis bit his lip and stroked his fingers through Dettlaff’s hair, wishing the vampire’s temperature to return to normal and his brother to be well again. He reached over to his satchel and retrieved his regeneration potion, carefully tipping some more of the liquid into Dettlaff’s mouth. Wordlessly he rummaged around in his satchel again, handing another vial to Geralt and only barely noticing it as Geralt lifted Damien’s head and got the man to swallow some of its contents before setting him down, nodding to himself.  
  
Regis tapped his fingers on the ground, feeling **_nervous_**. He was too riled up to go to sleep. Geralt too seemed determined not to go to sleep, or even meditate again; instead he silently kept watch with him, observing their surroundings, alert.  
  
“Hey Regis?” Geralt asked after a while.  
  
“Hmm?” Regis blinked and drew his gaze back to his friend.  
  
“You and Dettlaff… are you of the same tribe?” He shuffled a bit closer to them.  
  
Where had this come from? Hadn’t he told him this before? Regis couldn’t remember… “Yes, we are both Gharasham. Why do you ask?”  
  
Shrugging, Geralt looked at the unconscious vampire in his lap. “Seen his vampiric look before, now his bat-form. He looks different from you, your noses, your teeth… made me wonder.”  
  
How best to explain this? “I believe the closest to an explanation I may give is that we are individuals, Geralt. It’s quite similar to you and your wolf brothers, actually.”  
  
Geralt looked back up, meeting his eyes, one eyebrow lifted in that “go on” manner of his.  
  
“Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert… you all belong to the Wolf School tribe of Kaer Morhen, would you not agree?” He went on.  
  
Geralt considered this for a moment. “Now that you put it that way, yes, we do.”  
  
“But you do not have Vesemir’s nose. I remember Dettlaff telling me that his first impression had been of the man’s bushy eyebrows and his big nose.” A smile pulled at his lips at the memory.  
  
Geralt snorted a laugh and held up a hand. “Fine, fine… you made your point.”  
  
Regis focused his hearing, listening to Dettlaff’s heartbeat for the rest of the night while trying to stay still and not twitch and fret the entire time. He did allow himself to reach out a hand to his brother’s forehead, checking his temperature and stroking the clammy brow every now and then.  
  
The silence Geralt and he shared was both at once companionable and ice-chilling as they waited together for morning to arrive.  
  
*  
  
When the light of dawn appeared in the east Regis felt stretched… hollowed out.  
  
Dettlaff never slept this long, _never_.  
  
Regis reached for their bond, glad when _finally_ he could pick up a low background hum of sensations and a certain warmth that he associated with Dettlaff. Gone was the raging turmoil of anger and distress, gone was the emptiness that had replaced it when Dettlaff had collapsed.  
  
Feeling his lips pull up in a sad smile Regis breathed a sigh, a budding **_relief_** had dared to settle in his chest at this return to normalcy.  
  
Dettlaff looked completely worn out though, his brother had endured much.  
  
Regis shuddered. More and more he started fearing losing those he held dear. First his fright with Geralt, now with Dettlaff.  
  
A loved one’s mortality…  
  
All because of _her_. **_Fury.  
_**  
“Regis?” A soft voice came from over his shoulder.  
  
Turning his head around, Regis glared and bared his teeth at the soft voice, his mind still on Sylvia Anna.  
  
Geralt’s eyebrows rose, but otherwise he didn’t react to his threatening behaviour. Instead he nodded towards Regis’ lap, towards Dettlaff.  
  
Looking down, Regis saw Dettlaff’s nose twitching as the vampire inhaled deeper and his breathing sped up, on the verge of waking. After only several breaths Dettlaff opened his eyes, his pale blue eyes looking weary, but they were no longer bloodshot.  
  
Forcing himself to calm down, Regis smiled gently at his brother. “Good morning, old friend, are you awake proper this time?” He tried to suppress his feelings of **_concern_** from passing through the bond.  
  
Dettlaff frowned, confused. “Why,” he murmured slowly, his voice sounding brittle, “hurt… all over?” He swallowed, or tried to and, seeing his trouble, Regis quickly offered him his water skin and helped him drink from it.  
  
“You’ll be fine, Dettlaff. There was… an incident…” That reminded him, he’d have to ask Geralt to throw in some bombs and destroy this horrendous drug lab. “Can you be a bit more specific, dear friend? How do you hurt?”  
  
Stiff-limbed, Dettlaff moved his arm so he could place his hand on Regis’ shoulder. His brother cocked his head; his light eyes seeming to drill a hole into Regis’ eyes. “What happened? My body… feel like… mountain collapsed on me.”  
  
“What do you remember?”  
  
Dettlaff shook his head.  
  
Regis shook his head in turn. “Indulge me, dear Dettlaff, and let me check your condition.” He waited for the younger vampire to nod at him before bending over, examining his pupils, feeling the heat of his skin, the pulse in his neck, the tightness of his muscles that were still trembling periodically.  
  
Dettlaff allowed the manhandling, an excellent patient as he calmly waited for Regis to finish. The vampire had spotted Geralt and Damien close by and his eyes had narrowed in thought.  
  
“Where are we, can you tell me that?” Regis asked, pinching Dettlaff’s skin on the back of his hand before handing him the water skin. “Drink.”  
   
Dettlaff growled lowly, but followed his instruction. “Toussaint,” he said afterwards, his voice sounding less rough.  
  
Regis grimaced. “A bit more specific if you please.”  
  
Dettlaff shook his head, looking at the human captain. “I… do not know. I remember we came to find the human Damien, following the trail of Rh- Sylvia Anna.” He trembled and looked down, seeming to notice only then that he was only covered by a blanket, wearing nothing underneath. **_Confusion.  
_**  
**_Worry_** , **_concern_** and **_relief_** all whirled through Regis, rushing over their bond and reaching Dettlaff. Before his brother could look up though he reached down and hugged Dettlaff to his chest, worrying at his lip until one of his fangs pierced his flesh.  
  
Dettlaff’s body remained loose in his hold as he returned the embrace, one hand coming up to cup Regis’ chin while a finger wiped away the blood that had appeared. “Was it that bad?” **_Uncertainty._** **_Concern. Confusion.  
_**   
Regis pulled back a bit, eyes drawn to the spot on Dettlaff’s brow that had been bloody and bruised just a few hours ago. The wound had finally healed. **_Concern. Relief._**  
  
Dettlaff sighed and let his hand lower to his side. “It was. I’m sorry Regis.” **_Calm.  
_**  
Regis heard a rustling behind him and Dettlaff twisted a bit in his hold, looking longingly over his shoulder. Huffing, Regis loosened his hold, allowing his brother to pull away if he so wished. “It’s not like you invited anyone to hit you in the face with a very potent drug.”  
  
**_Confusion._** Dettlaff frowned. “Drug?”  
  
**_Fear._** Regis stared at the stream. “It was horrible, Dettlaff. I’ve seen humans rave away while high on fisstech, I’ve seen them turn aggressive and paranoid while overdosing…” he trailed off, his traitorous emotions flitting over the bond. **_Panic, fury, fear_** and ** _protect!_** being the most prominent ones.  
  
Dettlaff leaned his weight against his chest, not pulling away from their embrace. “I can only remember vague things. A buzzing in my ears… my body engulfed in flames. Blurred faces…” He cocked his head, listening to something as his eyes focused again on something behind Regis. “That human… Damien? How is he?”  
  
The familiar sound of Geralt’s stride alerted Regis of his friend’s arrival. His friend walked over until he was in the sight of both vampires before placing down some dark clothes right next to them. “The captain’s alive, Dettlaff. With sufficient care and rest he should recover completely.”  
  
Regis examined the clothes, noticing the red and gold woven into the fabric and he realised it was Geralt’s elegant Beauclair outfit, the same one he had worn at Orianna’s soirée, boots included. He must have kept the clothes rolled up in one of his saddle bags after they’d retrieved their regular outfits from Pierre. He was pretty certain they would fit Dettlaff.  
  
He cringed, remembering how Dettlaff’s frock coat was torn to shreds with his change. When vampires celebrated the full moon they made sure to be well out of their clothes before wilfully changing, but when bestially enraged the change happened too fast. Both he and Dettlaff had lost several good outfits that way.  
  
Regis startled, realising he’d been hissing under his breath again. Lost clothes were actually the least of his concern. Dettlaff was shivering, so unusual for a vampire. Regis shuddered himself, his empathy flaring up as he remembered what it was like to feel cold…  
  
“Do you need any help?” Regis asked, trying to distract his mind from unwanted memories.  
  
Dettlaff slowly shook his head and looked up at Geralt, who nodded his head at the vampire and turned away, sitting down next to Damien with his back towards them, giving them some privacy. With careful movements, still a bit uncoordinated, his brother managed to put on Geralt’s clothes. He was only a bit taller than Geralt, but the clothes fit him well enough.  
  
Unintentionally Regis chuckled. “I just was reminded of Geralt's rants about chafing doublets,” he explained, seeing Dettlaff’s questioning look before fondly gazing back at Geralt.  
  
Dettlaff lifted an arm, testing out the doublet before shrugging. “Pierre knows his craft,” he said softly, “thank you Geralt.”  
  
Geralt turned back towards them, a smile on his face as he stood up and started rolling up his freed blanket and put some extra kindling on the fire, wrinkling his nose as he picked up his half-dried boots and put them back on.  
  
Dettlaff’s eyes seemed glued to the witcher while Geralt crouched down next to Damien, pale blue eyes focused on his bared arms. “What happened to your arm?”  
  
Looking down at himself, Geralt showed him his arm, revealing scabbed over circular marks. There was an apology on his face as he looked at the vampire. “First of all, there’s nothing to worry about anymore, they’re healing fine. Second of all, it was an accident because you _protected_ me, Dettlaff.”  
  
That seemed to only confuse poor Dettlaff even more and Regis decided to take pity on his brother and explain it to him. He covered Dettlaff’s hand and sought the vampire’s gaze, waiting for a moment before sending **_calm_** over their bond, **_safe_**.  
  
“We had entered the Tulasens caves in search of Damien, but we startled the captain and the noise drew the attention of hanse members. We took care of the matter, but one of the humans threw what we now know to be a potent drug in your face and you… you ch-changed into your bat-form.” Regis swallowed, just thinking of how his brother had hurt himself caused his stomach to twist and wrench. “You took out several more of the hanse members before bashing yourself against the walls of the cave… h-hurting yourself.” **_Pain._** It hurt to think back on it, it was a terrible frightful experience.  
  
Geralt came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder, looking up at Dettlaff. “You stopped though when you noticed me.”  
  
**_Horror_** screamed through their bond as Dettlaff’s eyes roved over the witcher again, settling once more on the pinpricks on his arm, no doubt now realising that the marks had been caused by his own claw.  
  
**_Calm._** Regis shook his head. “You protected Geralt, though I think you put some terror in the poor man while you, still in bat-form, flew at him with your claws extended.” He put his hand over Dettlaff’s and rubbed a soothing pattern. “You flew at his would-be attacker and took care of the bandit, then promptly decided to stand over Geralt in order to protect him, refusing to move.”  
  
Dettlaff turned his head, a light blush appearing on his face. **_Embarrassment._**  
  
Geralt crouched down next to them and tilted his head, trying to catch Dettlaff’s gaze. “Thanks for that, by the way.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but apparently changed his mind. “I have to say it was quite a unique experience. Never seen a vampiric bat so close in my whole life. I mean, I’ve seen Regis, back at…” the witcher deflated a bit, “back at Stygga, but I…” he trailed off, not finishing his trail of thought.  
  
Dettlaff lifted an eyebrow, no doubt wanting to correct the witcher when he seemed to realise that Geralt had been unconscious when Regis sat on him back at Tesham Mutna.  
  
Regis felt his cheeks burning, sharing his brother’s **_embarrassment_** before reaching for the strap of his shoulder satchel, only to realise it was on the ground next to him from when he’d taken it off earlier.  
  
He was immensely glad to see Dettlaff coherent and moving. That could have ended so much worse.  
  
Rifling through their bag with provision he searched for something easy to eat and finally decided a banana would be a good way to test Dettlaff’s stomach, taking the tip off the vampire’s hunger. He handed the fruit over and nudged his still half full water skin at his brother. “Eat… drink,” he stood up, “there’s something I must do now that you are awake. I shall be but a moment.”  
  
Throwing one quick look at the still unconscious human, Regis misted up into his alternate form and swirled into the caves, searching for the place where Dettlaff had got hit by the drug. He would be upset if it was lost…  
  
On one of the lower levels he stumbled upon Dettlaff’s torn clothes; they were a lost cause, but Regis hadn’t returned to these horrible caves to retrieve _them_ in a hopeful bid he could patch what was left. No, the one thing he had returned for was the tiny moth pinned to his brother’s frock coat.  
  
Regis sighed, relieved to see it was still intact. The little pin had become one of Dettlaff’s dearest possessions. Carefully he picked up the pin and stowed the little moth in his own satchel. Noticing Dettlaff’s knife lying some distance away he picked it up as well before misting up and flying back out of the cave.  
  
He really needed to ask Geralt to throw in a bomb… or twenty… from a safe distance so none of them would get in contact with any of those despicable salts. **_Disgust_**.  
  
Once outside he flew over to their little camp and materialised just next to Geralt and Dettlaff, proudly retrieving the moth pin from his satchel and holding it up.  
  
Dettlaff’s eyes glowed with gratitude as he carefully took it from his hand and pinned it onto his borrowed doublet.  
  
“Ah yes, retrieved one more thing for you.” Regis offered him his knife.  
  
Dettlaff’s eyes narrowed as he accepted it, looking down at his borrowed boots before nestling his weapon in the hole Geralt had created earlier.  
  
A short snort of laughter sounded from behind him and when he turned Geralt tried to get his face back under control, unsuccessful.  
  
*  
  
Damien de la Tour had spent the entire night out cold, barely moving, but the potions he’d been made to drink before were helping, even though they were nowhere near as remarkable as Geralt’s potions. After all, Captain de la Tour was a normal human and it would not do to inadvertently melt his liver, or his brain for that matter.  
  
Regis examined the sling he had trapped the man’s arm in, having bound it tightly to his chest; stabilising the shoulder that had been dislocated after splinting his fractured ulna. The man had a collection of broken bones and bruises and he had a concussion to boot from what he could see of the man’s pupils, but he would be fine.  
  
Thus, he was somewhat pleased when the human woke less than an hour after Dettlaff had, lying quietly for a moment, no doubt taking an inventory of the state he was in.  
  
Regis knelt down next to the captain. “Captain de la Tour? Can you hear me?”  
  
The man turned his head, one eyebrow lifted as though calling him an idiot for asking such a question. “Yes,” his hoarse voice confirmed. His eyes swirled over their little camp, taking in Dettlaff standing near the horses and Geralt, sitting on his other side. Recognition settled on his face. “Witcher?”  
  
Geralt inclined his head. “Damien. Glad to see you’re more or less in one piece.” Then his face turned more serious. “We’re the only ones left now, you’re safe. What do you remember?”  
  
Damien stared ahead a bit, unseeing, trying to recall the past events. When grief settled over his face, Regis knew the man remembered the slaughter of his unit.  
  
Regis looked back at Dettlaff, glad to see his brother up and about and patiently stroking Sable’s coat. **_Relief. Protect._** Dettlaff had been feeling anxious and restless and had gone over to the horses only a few minutes ago to calm down.  
  
Grisetta had skittishly stepped to the side at first, her ears flattened, but Roach had walked up to the vampire, her head held high before butting him in the chest and nickering softly, pushing her nose against his hand, “demanding pets” Geralt had told him, before Sable had walked to up him as well, hesitantly nuzzling the hand he used to pet Roach’ snout. That had apparently convinced Grisetta that he was safe enough and slowly she’d made her way over to him, sniffing his pockets before trying to munch on his borrowed outfit. They seemed to help, soothing Dettlaff just by allowing him to touch them.  
  
“It was her… Syanna,” the captain’s voice pulled him back to the present, “my men…” he closed his eyes, pained, before opening them and holding a hand up. “Help me up, master-?”  
  
“Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy,” Regis instinctively said, biting the inside of his cheek as soon as he did.  
  
“Master Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy,” Captain de la Tour repeated, his pronunciation without fault.  
  
A bit startled, Regis smiled and carefully grasped the captain’s hand, placing his arm behind the man’s back to help him sit up. “Just Regis will do, captain.” He sat back on his haunches, trying to determine whether the man would stay up by himself.  
  
“Call me Damien then, Regis,” Damien said, feeling his bandaged shoulder with his free hand and wincing only slightly at the pain he no doubt was in.  
  
“Here,” Geralt had apparently been searching through Regis’ satchel as he held out a familiar vial containing a painkiller. Then he pointed to the water skin lying next to the man’s bedroll.  
  
“Ah, thank you, Geralt,” Regis accepted the vial in Damien’s stead and waited for the captain to catch up with the happenings going on around him. He still didn’t look fully awake, the concussion, most likely. “Damien, drink just two sips of this, it’s a painkiller,” he explained, handing over the vial.  
  
Nodding slowly, the captain took it and did as he was bid before handing the vial back and reaching for the water skin. The man’s stomach grumbled and he looked away, abashed.  
  
“Geralt?” Regis looked around for the bag with their provisions. “Would you-?”  
  
“Already on it.” Geralt walked toward their provisions and retrieved the whole bag, picking out a banana before looking at the captain’s shoulder and trading it for an apple, handing it over. “Think you can stomach some bread? Can make a broth if you like,” Geralt offered.  
  
The captain shook his head slowly before eagerly biting the apple. “Bread will be fine…”  
  
Geralt knelt down next to them and set to cutting off several pieces of bread, covering them with slices of cheese and dried meats. One of them in particular he first covered with a piece of cheese before layering some honey on top of it, followed by another cheese slice before he handed it over to him. “Try this one, Regis. Soon as Damien’s finished with his apple he can choose which ones of these he’d like.” The witcher looked over at Dettlaff, a fond look in his eyes. “Hey, Dettlaff?” he called softly, “join us for breakfast?”  
  
Dettlaff’s head jerked up the second he heard his name and, a bit stiffly, he walked over to the three of them.  
  
**_Concern._** “Dettlaff?” Regis asked.  
  
**_Calm._** “I am well, Regis. Merely some muscle soreness.”  
  
Damien frowned from where he was sitting in between them. “And who may you be?”  
  
“My name is Dettlaff,” the vampire spoke, not bothering with his last name as he sat down.  
  
Regis took a bite from his layered bread, pleasantly surprised at the mixed taste of the honey and cheese and he eagerly tore off another piece, seeing Geralt’s pleased look as he did so. A feeling of **_fondness_** settled through him and he smiled at his dear friend.  
  
**_Curiosity._** Dettlaff looked at him, choosing a piece of bread with a meat topping and starting to eat.  
  
“Pick which one you want, Damien. Better get something more substantial than an apple in you before you fall over,” Geralt said, waiting for the man to pick one of the bread pieces before taking the final one.  
  
Regis had a feeling that once Damien started his tale he’d lose any appetite he may have, so it was a good thing Geralt made them eat first.  
  
When they were finished, Geralt threw one look over at Damien and slowly nodded. “Regis and Dettlaff have been helping me on this contract, we intercepted a fifth letter shortly after the Duchess sent you to find Sylvia Anna. The content of this letter has led us on a wild goose chase all over Toussaint. Quite similar to yours, I suppose.”  
  
Damien started looking a bit grey and Regis reached out to him, making sure the sling wasn’t causing additional discomfort.  
  
“After the Duchess ordered me to search for Syanna I sent out my scouts,” Damien started, “Camerlengo de Surmann had sent knights out already to the castle of Dun Tynne, and one knight had sent a messenger back, reporting that the troupe was heading off in a northern direction, heading towards the Trade Post. At full speed me and my men rode in that direction and we ended up following the tracks to Arthach Palace. A fight had broken out already and we ran to aid the Camerlengo’s knights, who were holding off Straggen’s hanse.” Damien angrily threw the apple core as hard as he could away from him, hunching over in pain. “We were too few, and they too many! Our information said they were with three score men, but when we arrived there many more men fighting for Straggen, at least five score. We were slaughtered!” Damien’s chest heaved. “And I saw _her_ , Syanna. The men protecting her during the fight… I know some of them, they were Lord Roderick’s knights!”  
  
“Damien,” Geralt spoke calmly, “do you know why they decided to take you prisoner?”  
  
“No, Geralt,” Damien shook his head, “not why, only how. The fight had been going on for so long already and I was parrying a blade when all of a sudden I was struck from behind by something heavy,” he touched the back of his neck, feeling the lump that Regis had detected during his examination, “I do not know what it was, but it brought me to my knees. Long enough for them to hit me again and the world turned dark. When I woke up I was tied down and tossed over a horse like a sack of grain. I overheard Syanna speaking of her plans to this Antoine before she realised I was awake and I was knocked out again.”  
  
Regis felt a pang of pity shoot through his chest. “You were overwhelmed, captain, we have found out that she’s been plotting a coup for many years already, gathering followers all this time.”  
  
Damien nodded. “The next time I regained awareness I was inside a cage, in an awful smelling cave. I deduced that it was another hanse base from conversations I overhead between the bandits and I learnt that I was the only one left alive of our troupes.” He shuddered and his eyes lost their focus for a moment before he coughed and looked at Geralt with intense eyes.  
  
“Witcher… Geralt… Syanna plans to take over the Ducal seat, to replace Her Illustrious Majesty Anna Henrietta. We cannot allow that to happen!”  
  
“This… _Syanna_ ,” Dettlaff’s low voice surprised the captain, “was she there in the caves?”  
  
Damien’s face turned pinched as he tried to remember. “I believe so. I remember hearing a woman’s voice once, speaking about toy knights.”  
  
“She must have known you are important to Anarietta,” Geralt nodded, “likely had plans to gloat about your capture to her.”  
  
“Oh no,” Regis muttered, suddenly realising something.  
  
“What is it, Regis?” Dettlaff asked.  
  
“The fifth letter, the feast of Saint Barnabas…” Regis looked at the ground and dragged his satchel closer to him, fiddling with the leather strap. “We do not know if Sylvia Anna is aware of our involvement, but we have to assume she’ll not wait for De- the beast to tear out the Duchess’ heart.”  
  
Watching Damien’s response to his wording he realised he could have stated that better, though he’d nearly put his foot in his mouth by revealing Dettlaff’s involvement in this whole plot.  
  
“What do you mean, _tear out her heart_?!” The wounded man shouted furiously, twisting around until he could see him better before turning around and focusing his glare on Geralt. “Are you telling me that Duchess Anna Henrietta is marked as the next victim?”  
  
Geralt winced. “Uhh…”  
  
“She is,” Dettlaff interrupted.  
  
“Plough it, man! Syanna is plotting a coup and Anarietta is in grave danger!” Damien rolled to the side until he could use his free arm to push himself up from the ground and get back to a standing position, made more difficult by his twisted ankle. The man wobbled as he did so and he would have fallen over if Regis hadn’t put his arm around the man’s waist.  
  
“Please, hear us out,” Regis said quietly, hoping that the tone of his voice would calm the angry man.  
  
“We must leave, at _once!”_ Damien started hobbling towards one of the horses, or at least trying to as Regis wouldn’t budge and kept a solid hold on the man’s waist. “Let go of me, master Regis, _now_!”  
  
“Geralt, perhaps it would be best if-” Dettlaff’s voice uttered quietly.  
  
“No Dettlaff, won’t do that to him…”  
  
“But-”  
  
“And that’s final. Don’t you dare… Dettlaff!” Geralt snapped.  
  
But it was too late. The captain’s body fell limp and if Regis hadn’t already been holding him the man would have fallen to the ground.  
  
Rubbing a hand over his face, Geralt looked at Dettlaff with wry amusement.  
  
Regis sighed in **_relief_** , so Geralt wasn’t all too mad at him. Carefully laying Damien down on the ground, Regis looked at the man’s dazed blue eyes. “Dettlaff,” **_fond exasperation_** , “unfortunately this is only a temporary solution. The dear captain’s reaction is quite understandable. After all, within his heart he holds an intense love for the Duchess.” Of that he was certain.  
  
Dettlaff’s hands were balled into fists, trembling, **_anxious_** , **_frustrated_**.  
  
Regis went over to him and cupped the vampire’s face between his hands, standing a little bit on tiptoe so he could touch his forehead to his brother’s. “It’s all right, dear heart… we’re not mad, look? Even Geralt’s got more of an amused than angry look on his face.” **_Love.  
_**  
**_Frustration. Dismay._** “I wanted to help.”  
  
“No harm done, Dettlaff,” Geralt walked over to them and he didn’t hesitate as he reached over to one of the vampire’s balled up fists, “we’ll just wake him up and tell him he fainted. And then explain the situation to him calmly, without any axiis or thralls, all right?”  
  
Regis noticed him lightly stroking circular patterns over Dettlaff’s hand and he was immensely pleased when the tension in Dettlaff’s body slowly left. The young vampire nuzzled Regis’ forehead one last time before he drew away.  
  
**_Love._** Regis gave him an encouraging smile.  
  
Geralt settled himself down besides the captain. “Ready when you are.”  
  
Dettlaff released his thrall and immediately Damien blinked. The captain looked up, surprised to see where he was. “Witcher?”  
  
Geralt rested a light hand on Damien’s uninjured shoulder. “You fainted, de la Tour. Too much excitement. Let’s try this again and please _listen_ to what we have to say, all right?”  
  
The moment Damien recalled the last part of their conversation the man tensed up and he breathed shakily, but jerked his chin up. “Explain, _witcher_ ,” it sounded like an insult, “why I should not arrest you for treason and be done with you.”  
  
Regis felt his hackles raising, wanting to tell the man that he was in no state to do so, and wanting to slap the man around for daring to threaten Geralt in such a manner. People accused of treason often ended up losing their heads, after all. **_Anger._** **_Protect._**  
  
“Regis, it’s all right,” Geralt’s voice said softly, way below the level a human would be able to pick up on it, “see it from his point of view. Please, dear friend, do not fret.”  
  
Regis felt his left eye twitch annoyingly and he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
**_Calm. Love._** Dettlaff sent, sensing his distress.  
  
“Captain de la Tour,” Geralt began, “the moment we intercepted the fifth letter we rushed to the palace in order to warn Anna Henrietta. She’s aware she’s the plotters’ next victim and that she’s meant to pay for not living up to the Virtue of Compassion. She ordered us to find you and warn you of Sylvia Anna’s plot, but the only trace we had to follow started at Dun Tynne. We came as fast as we could.”  
  
The captain’s burning glare wilted as Geralt spoke and Regis cocked his head, watching the man. His fingernails were itching.  
  
“We followed the trail to the Arthach Palace ruins, where we encountered less than a score of men and I _know_ there had been three times their number earlier. A fight ensued but we managed to interrogate two men telling us of your capture and the hanse’s departure to Fox Hollow. We passed Coronata vineyard on our way here and requested Liam de Coronata’s aid. He’s left to inform the knights and the Ducal Guards and he’ll travel to Beauclair palace in order to update Anarietta of what occurred and to request for reinforcements.”  
  
“Time was of the essence as we wished to retrieve you, _alive_ ,” Regis spoke up, a bit peeved still.  
  
Seeing his dour look, Damien rolled to his side and sat up, suppressing a wince. “I apologise for my harsh words, Regis, Geralt… but when did you send master de Coronata for aid?”  
  
“We saw him yesterday morning,” Geralt replied, “he should have reached the palace just late afternoon.”  
  
“Her Illustrious Grace would send more men, three troupes likely and, knowing our knights, they would fan out, approaching our location from different angles.” Damien nodded.  
  
“We know that the ones Loth Halfbreed left behind in the Tulasens caves were waiting for a signal, a message, to join the larger hanse at the Rioux-Cannes Outpost,” Geralt got a thoughtful look on his face. “That means that the hanse has already settled safely at the outpost, knights are travelling towards here, not west of Beauclair to the outpost.”  
  
**_Concern._** “Unless Syanna’s hanse decided to go to Fort Astre or Chuchote cave first and hole up there for a few days the knightly reinforcements will arrive too late. We already took care of the stragglers here.” Regis mused.  
  
Damien reached out and grabbed Geralt’s wrist. “We do not know how large the hanse is now, more men could have headed to the outpost separately. The leaders of the hanse bases seem to have joined up, Mont Crane’s hanse…”  
  
Geralt touched his hand to Damien’s where it grabbed his wrist. “I took care of that base, don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Can you say for certain that all hanse members were there? After all, you are here right now.” The captain looked doubtful.  
  
Seeing Geralt’s uncertain look Regis sighed. The captain had a point. Geralt could fight many men, using bombs and potions and alternating the use of his sword with his crossbow, but even he would find a large hanse nearly impossible to defeat on his own. “Geralt? When you headed to Mont Crane, how many men did you encounter?”  
  
He could see his friend thinking for a while. “Around… thirty men, thereabouts? Killed their leader, Filibert von Wittan and heard the castle’s been empty ever since. Area’s clear again.”  
  
Damien’s froze. “Geralt, we know that the hanse located at Mont Crane was five score large at least.”  
  
Geralt looked like he wanted to snap at the man and say something he’d regret later, so Regis quickly reached out to him and touched his hand. “We shall return to the palace and warn Anna Henrietta.”  
  
“Good,” Damien nodded, “I shall join you.”  
  
Regis stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the man as he tapped his foot to the ground. “While I admire your courage, captain, this matters requires haste and as a barber surgeon I cannot condone you travelling with us all the way to Beauclair in the state you are in, not by horse.”  
  
“While I realise I am useless in a fight you certainly cannot mean to leave me here?!” Damien objected.  
  
“Closest place you know, Damien, besides Fox Hollow, what comes to mind?” Geralt asked, succinct.  
  
The captain tapped the ground with his fingers while he thought. “South-east of here, on your way to Beauclair, is the Castel Ravello vineyard. The master there, Fabricio, is very well known to us as his vineyard produces Sangreal, a spicy wine made exclusively for the Ducal table.”  
  
Geralt nodded. “Sounds good. Then we’ll take you to the vineyard and be on our way. Dettlaff, can you start readying the horses?”  
  
The vampire nodded and went over to the equine trio. Geralt seemed to want to join him, but a burst of **_fear_** shot to Regis’ chest as he realised that they couldn’t, _mustn’t_ forget this.  
  
“Geralt,” Regis started, looking back at the cave entrance, “do you have any bombs with you capable of destroying these caves, or at least destroy them enough such as to block their entrance?”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “Forgot to make new bombs, but I know of another way. Stay here…” He quickly put on his armour and walked over to the cave, examining the outer rock. Then he held out his hand, middle finger bent inwards and cast a powerful aard, loosening the structure of the rock. Then he cast another aard, causing the loosened rock to crumble and fall down, blocking the entrance.  
  
Regis realised he’d been holding his breath. It would do. At least no one could easily enter the caves now and have an unfortunate encounter with that _filth_. “Thank you, my friend,” he breathed.  
  
Geralt walked back over to him and lightly squeezed his shoulder, a knowing look on his face.  
  
Regis spotted Dettlaff frowning as he stared at the scratch marks on the front of Geralt’s griffin armour and he walked up to him, helping him finish readying the horses. “Are you all right, Dettlaff? Any lingering effects?”  
  
Dettlaff looked over at the two humans. “I feel agitated, more than before. My head hurts and my muscles feel like I’ve flown an entire week without rest, but from what you tell me it could have been much worse.” A look of **_fear_** appeared in the blue eyes. “I too, have seen humans on fisstech, Regis. I have seen what remained of them.” He shuddered, reaching for their connection and lightly tugging on it.  
  
**_Safe. Warm._** Regis looked behind him, making sure the captain wasn’t looking their way before reaching for one of Dettlaff’s hands. “Tell me if you start feeling unwell, Dettlaff. Geralt was right in that the drug you were hit with resembled fisstech and if that comparison holds true I suspect your current symptoms will wane soon, especially after only one dose, but please let me know if anything changes.”  
  
Dettlaff nodded. “I shall, Regis.”  
  
Damien grumbled, clearly unhappy about the situation, but resigned to their course of action. When Geralt came back he lifted up his hand in entreaty. “Lift me up?”  
  
Carefully, Geralt hoisted the man to his feet and helped him hobble over to Roach, who looked a bit unhappy at seeing two humans approaching her as though sensing what Geralt had in store for her. At least without the captain’s armour he was much lighter, she would manage; and this time Geralt hadn’t stuffed his saddlebags with all kinds of knick-knacks and junk like he usually hoarded.  
  
With a little bit of help, Damien soon sat on Roach’ back, Geralt supporting him from behind as he reached for the reins. “We’ll warn her, Damien,” Geralt said quietly to him while waiting for Dettlaff and Regis to mount their horses, “and we’ll do everything we can to find Sylvia Anna and stop her plot.”  
  
“By the Heron, that your efforts will not be in vain,” Damien murmured, looking straight ahead as they set off, heading towards the Castel Ravello vineyard.  
  
Looking back over his shoulder towards the collapsed Tulasens caves entrance, Regis hoped so too.  
  
**The end**

**Author's Note:**

> -Referring specifically to the non-con drug use and unintended self-harm. This is something that happens to Dettlaff. He gets hit in the face with some ‘falka salts’, which is basically a super fisstech and based on flakka (which I had no idea existed before writing this story, when I searched ‘zombies’ I was actually looking for a bestiary entry). The self-harm is Dettlaff banging himself against a hard surface while he’s high on drugs, but luckily it stops pretty quickly and he settles down without any permanent harm.  
> -As I see it, after Dettlaff’s one time hit with these drugs he’ll recover from the unintended overdose received, there’ll be no addiction issues for him!


End file.
